


Of Umbrellas and Overcoats

by MoonlightIcarus



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Angst, Coming Out, Cute, Dating, Divorced Greg Lestrade, Drinking & Talking, Eventual Smut, Feelings Realization, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Mycroft To The Rescue, Mycroft Worries, Romance, Self Confidence Issues, Self-Esteem Issues, Self-Worth Issues, Sexual Fantasy, Sexuality Crisis, Slow Burn, Talking, Vulnerable Greg
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-10-20
Updated: 2020-01-26
Packaged: 2020-12-24 06:53:04
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 11
Words: 43,967
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21095231
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MoonlightIcarus/pseuds/MoonlightIcarus
Summary: It's the rainy season and Greg always loses his umbrellas. When he gets called to a crime scene involving Sherlock during the downpour Mycroft is kind enough cover him with his own umbrella.





	1. Bed springs

*BEEP*  
*BEEP*  
*BEEP*

Greg always hated that noise. The incessant beeping of his alarm clock. It was certifiably the worse sound in the world. The reminder that it was Monday and he had to get up at an ungodly hour and trek to his office to start on the paperwork that continued to flow. But that was getting ahead of himself, right now he had to stand up before anything else could be done. 

Untangling himself from his old sheets and placing has bare feet on the hard wood floor made it all the worse. It just confirmed that he wouldn't be going back to bed this morning. No, he had to walk the three steps across his tiny flat so he could shower and get dressed in one of his suits.

The shower wasn't welcoming as the tap produced blisteringly cold water. Even after a few minutes it was hardly Luke warm. Of course, this wasn't any different than how his days normally went, but he hoped that maybe life would throw him a bone so he could at the very least have a hot shower. In the end, he thought himself daft for even hoping for that today might be any different. Monday's were made to torment the poor saps who had hope, and he was one such poor sap. Greg went as fast as he could in the shower, only rinsing himself off and forgoing body wash and shampoo for the day. He wouldn't look his best, but some days you just had to deal with looking like a washed up 40 year old divorcee. Shaving was also ignored just to get out of the bathroom sooner so he wouldn't have to feel bad about how tiny the whole room was, even counting the shower it was only a meter and a half long by about a meter wide. But when he stepped into the only other room in his flat it just made him feel worse about his life. His whole living space was just one "large" room that housed his bed, dresser, tv, a small wrought iron table, and a kitchenette (it was really just a microwave with two drawers and a mini fridge). He could only afford this piece of trash with how high his monthly alimony was. Nearly a year after it had all been settled and Greg wasn't quite sure how his ex convinced the judge that she had been wronged since she was the one who cheated on him. He had a foolishly optimistic feeling going into it, and then she brought out the water works and suddenly he had to give her most of his earnings each month. Everyone said it was important to move on from it, but the divorce left him with almost nothing to move on with. Mary kept the apartment, their furniture, and the car, leaving him with just his clothes and a few toiletries. Anyone he met would side with his wife because apparently a woman could do no wrong in a relationship (clearly they had never met the witch he was dumb enough to marry). The only person he really had anymore was Sally and he was worried about how much she could handle before she cut him out of her life as well. Leaving their relationship as nothing more than strenuous colliges.

Again dwelling on the past wasn't good for his mental health, but it was difficult to not think about something that alters your entire life and then surrounds you in its aftermath every moment of the day. He tried to ignore it by getting into his suit for the day, and pretending to care about what tie he was going to wear, as if choosing between a blue and a red tie actually mattered to him, but it was something to keep him busy. His thoughts couldn't be fully cleared, but loss wasn't taking his full attention like it normally did in the morning.

Finally deciding on his blue tie he slipped on his black dress shoes that were starting to show their wear. He didn't eat anything at his flat because he didn't have anything to eat, and there was always the coffee pot in the break room and if he was truly a lucky man he would be able to enjoy a pasty someone didn't want, however that was far too optimistic for a Monday morning. Little joys like that didn't exist in his life. Greg opened the door with an unsettlingly loud creak from the hinges and saw the pounding rain. Not light sprinkling, or soft misting, no this was full force thick droplets of rain that were guaranteed to soak someone to the bone if they went out unprotected, and here he was without an umbrella on account of the fact that he always lost them shortly after he bought one. 

So he went back and got his ancient wind breaker that was stiff and dusty from misues and zipped it up over his suit jacket. It could barely be closed and it lacked a hood to properly protect him but at this point anything was better than nothing.

He wanted to ignore the splash of his shoes in what seemed like every puddle on the side walk as the water soaked through the leather, straight into his socked feet. Greg also attempted to avoid thinking about how his pants were still getting drenched in the torrential downpour as he made his way to a station. The sidewalk itself came off as entirely devoid of life aside from him. All sound was drowned out by the dull noise of water hitting the pavement and even the sky lacked any lightning strikes and crackling thunder to break the monotonous downpour. Everything had come together, and it made his walk seem more tedious than it had any right to be even on a Monday.

When he stepped under the cover at the terminal he felt the water dripping down his skull. His reflection showed that his hair was plastered to his skull and there was flush that the cold brought to his cheeks. He desperately wanted to skip through today and get back to sleep were he didn't have to think about how shit everything was.

The tube was crowded, but it would have been unusual if it wasn't overstuffed with other poor soaps on their way to work, and having had to stand for the ride was jsut a given. It was one of those small mercies in life that New Scotland Yard was so close to a station so he wasn't quite as wet as was possible when he stepped in the doors and was greeted by the receptionist. They made eye contact and shared a moment of equally annoyed nods and grunts then he moved to the lift to make his way to his office after taking a slight detour by the breakroom.

The room was blessedly empty. Greg could get his coffee in peace and he had a chance to dry off before he went to his office and possible soaked his desk and chair. Someone had already started a pot and it was relatively fresh, so he had been right in predicting that, but he sadly didn't get a pastry to curb his hunger. He would simply need to hold out until lunch, so he could stuff his face with cheap food that likely cut 10 years off his life. Not the best way to motivate yourself but when push comes to shove anything will have to do if it makes life bearable.

Once his office door was unlocked he moved inside to see the stack of papers he didn't want to be there. Hell, this didnt even cover his inbox which was surely overflowing with invoices and updates on another round of mandatory meetings. Sometimes life as a DI was as tedious as a standard office job in an oppressive cubical, but now wasn't the time for an existential crisis. If he wanted the paperwork gone he would have to do it. With tired reluctance he put his still dripping windbreaker onto the coat rack by his office door and sat down to get it over with.

Greg started on the physical papers because he knew if he tried to do the emails he would get distracted by the rabbit hole of the internet, and right now productivity was his goal. Even still he checked his phone again and again to see if any significant amount of time had passed. This led to his disappointment when only four or five minutes passed between each time he checked it.

The documents all blended together like the dull days of summer back in primary school. The days when you don't have friends over or anything to entertain yourself, the ones that were so boring you wished for school to start back simply so you could do something that wasn't watching some show that you had grown tired of long ago. Jsut like back then Greg kept on, scribbling down his signature without even thinking about it after doing the same repetitive task for so, so long. 

The time eventually came to 10:30, and that meant that in one hour he would finally be able to leave for his break and eat something to quell the pang of hunger forging in his gullet. But he couldn't be purely happy about it, because to get food he would have to go back outside into the rain, and if he got soaked again he would certainly be less lucky at avoiding his subordinates. He was fortunately able to avoid them earlier when he got there early in the work day, but by now the desks would be packed and everyone would see his walk of shame as he had to trudge back to his office with a bag of fast food, and water dripping down his frame.

This contemplation of worse outcomes was interrupted by Sally Donovan barging into his office without so much as a knock or a warning.

"Hey boss we've got a situation."

"Please tell me it's serious enough to pull me away from this paperwork, but not serious enough to stop me from having lunch at a decent hour of the day." He went back to filling out a form after he acknowledged she had entered the room.

She still stood in the doorway with her hand on the knob as she answered him. "It's a Sherlock situation."

"Has he found another body for us to deal with?" He knew the bugger was a genius but he had quite possibly the worst timing of any creature to have ever lived when it came to having his sudden revelations.

"No he's found two and they're stuck in the rain so the evidence is being compromised more by the second." Her tone was grim at the existence of a double homicide and annoyed because all things relating to the younger Holmes brother pissed her off based off the concept alone. Most of the force didnt like Sherlock and his overbearing honesty, but a respect had developed for his intelligence when it became abundantly clear that he was detrimental in dozens of different cases.

Sally was one of the last few to still harbor such disdain for him. Though, Greg assumed it was based more on principle than on Sherlock as a person at this point. She always had an issue with fictional works portraying vigilantism as something superior to an actually trained police force, and here she was living her life when a buffoon comes along and does jsut the things she cant stand.

Her personal issues aside, Greg had felt something pull him down even more at the admission of a Sherlock incident. "Shit, I wanted an excuse to leave not, something to shake up the department." He got up and shoved his arms into the sleeves of his jacket and gestured for her to lead him to the car. "Do we already have people there roping off the area or are we expected to be the first ones on the scene."

The words had only left his mouth for a second as they sprinted to the lift with it doors closing. Sally's response was all that filled the metal box during its decent to the parking deck. "There's a forensics team there but no armed police currently. Of course Sherlock and Watson are they because they are inseparable." The lift doors opened at what always seemed to be too slow for how urgent their business tended to be and they walked over to their car. Sally had the keys in hand, ready to rush them to the scene. She moved to the driver's side and Greg voiced no arguments to that since he knew that driving at high speed down crowded streets was public endangerment, but also the fasted way for Sally to vent her frustrations at Sherlock. It wasn't the best idea but nothing short of a seven car pile up could make him regret his decision.

The last confrontation between the two of them left Sally red faced and seething at how utterly calm Sherlock appeared. That was one of several times Greg was forced to physically drag her away from the Consulting Detective.

The ride over was bumpy and took several turns that were sharper than they necessarily needed to be but, there was no property damage and any pedestriants had managed to get through it unscathed. They pulled up at a parking lot to an abandoned factory on the East End. The forensic team had roped off the area and a tent had been placed over what he presumed to be the location of the bodies.

When they got out of the car to get a closer Greg saw Sherlock standing there with John close by looking exasturbated as he stood with his umbrella. Sherlock had no protection of his own and it made his heavy coat look like it was weighing him down and sticking to his lithe body. He approached Sherlock and Sally peeled off to speak with a member of the forensics team. 

"Detective! I'm amazed you came. It had taken so long I had assumed you chose to forgo actual crime scenes and instead chose to sit in your office and let the fresh meat do actual police work." Sherlock was surprisingly calm for someone stuck in the rain but John was giving him a look of annoyance. Even if the tall man couldn't see John's expression, Greg was certain that he knew it was there. "Though I can tell that you've barely slept and also have been skipping meals. It's normal for someone to do such things during high stress situations, but your divorce was settled months ago so I see-"

"Can you berate my less than proper habits after you explain what the hell this shit is before it's all ruined beyond recognition." He was already sick of shit today, and Sherlock was using up the last of his stamina that he was trying to conserve for the tedium of his paperwork.

"Fine." Sherlock then turned and walked to stand just outside the tent as Greg followed behind him.


	2. Steak or at Least a Light

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock explains and Greg is drenched once again.
> 
> Mycroft thinks.

"See detective, it was the butcher who works two blocks over. It's dreadfully obvious once you so much as glance at the wounds covering the womans chest and the mans thighs. They were made by a stainless steel, square shaped butcher knife. It's honestly a horrible weapon to use, especially for a murder because you can't stab someone with it, but then it does equal out when you account for the prowess it has for chopping up bodies." Sherlock was pacing between two corners of the tent, almost screaming so Greg could hear him, yet with a forcibly calm and belittling demeanor about him.

"Okay so we know what killed them, but we still need to know why and who did it." He was fucking praying this could go faster so he could down three donuts and possibly steal a nap in his office after dealing with this shit today. Greg didnt even have the ability to his under the tent to shield himself, so this needed to be the day Sherlock decided to be consise for once.

Sherlock stopped his pacing and turned to Greg when he said, "George, I already said it was the butcher down the street."

The mistake of his name was ignored, as he'd been prone to do in recent time. If Sherlock couldn't learn his name after all these tears then, Greg wasn't going to push it and instead focus his energy on the case. "Well your word isn't evidence in a court of law so I'm going to need you to be more specific so we know what to look for."

"Its a shame, my claims are always accurate and rooted in clear facts that any two bit tosser with functioning eyes could identify as well." Greg only grimaced and Sherlock resumed his pacing when he continued, "However, if you require more than I'll tell you to just think about the weapon. No household would have a needlessly large knife so it must belong to a butcher and the only one within any reasonable distance is the one three blocks to the north. As for a motive the woman has a wedding ring on and the man does not so the butcher was either her husband or fiance who found her cheating and killed the man."

"Then why is the woman dead."

"Because she saw him kill the other man, and he couldn't let her expose him. It's such a mundane case, not even a 3 really, but there can only be so many interesting cereal killers in one city at any given time." Only now did Sherlock seem to register the way water was dripping off his jacket and falling from the tip of his nose. His usually stiled curls now looked like a mop that had been plopped onto the top of bus head.

"Yeah just fucking peachy." He turned from Sherlock when he realized the other man was done with this conversation. "Sally, I need you to go check a butcher shop three bricks north, the man there should be the murderer." 

"On it boss." She walked away with a splash resounding at every step.

Greg turned to one of the members of the forensics team. "Hey you!" He pointed to the man closest to him, "Take Sherlock's and John's statements as evidence." He only received a fearful nod but that was all the acknowledgment he needed with the hunger forming in his empty stomache.

He thought of all the possible orders he could make, fastfood, pastry, or otherwise in his moment of silence. It was always so hard to pick when getting something that tasted better came with the drawback of getting less to eat overall. There was an old reliable middle ground of local hole-in-the-wall businesses that had tasty food, but still weren't stingy with their portions. Enough of his lunch breaks were spent there that the staff always knew him by name. That was something else he tried to ignore, the shame of that familiarity.

Just as he finished making up an order in his head things did as they tend to do, and fell through on him. When Greg thought he would be able to leave and started making the muddy walk back to the car, he saw a completely unsubtle black government car pull up on the street corner.

It only ever meant one thing...Mycroft bloody Holmes. Greg saw the large black umbrella open from the door before he saw Mycroft himself step out of the car, looking as immaculately untouchable as ever. 

The posh tosser was absolutely full of himself (granted if anyone had the right to an ego it was Mycroft Holmes, but that didn't dimish the way it annoyed Greg). It was evident in the was he carried himself over to Greg, seeming to dodge any puddle than might have ruined his overpriced shoes.

He finally reached Greg and covered him under the large umbrella, protected his body from the downpour for the first time since his arrival.

"Lestrade."

For a moment Greg didn't even respond, too flabbergasted by how they must have looked. The perfect example of a toff who was even above the elements next to a waterlogged officer wearing an ancient jack and completely soaked to the bone. He found himself plagued by an unrelenting desire to smoke, and it was because of Hsrlock and to a lesser extent Mycroft. Greg couldn't deal with both Holmes brothers in quick succession without a cigarette or five, skrew if Mycroft didn't like it he needed something to distract him from his hunger and annoyance.

He unzipped his jacket and reached into his coat pocket to pull out his cigarettes. "Whatever you have to say it can fuckin wait until after this is lit, also do you have a lighter?"

"Yes Lestrade, but I would again suggest smoking something of a higher quality if you choose to do it so frequently." Even as he berated the Detectice Mycroft pulled out a lighter that could have been a zippo if it didn't look like it cost more than most phones did. The flame was ignited and brought up to the cigarette nestled between his lips and once the flame caught it was snapped shut and returned to the inner pocket of that perfectly tailored suit.

Greg took a long slow inhale and let it burn, while doing this he though about Mycroft. He didn't hate the man just hated how absolutely perfect and untouchable he came off as. Of course, he knew that Mycroft wasn't some impervious Arthurian knight, but he really fucking acted like it. He finally exhaled and repeated the process until the ache was strong enough to distract him from his hunger and he threw the bud onto the ground, letting the water put it out.

"If you're here then Sherlock must have done something more inane than usual. Please tell me he wasn't actually the one to kill these two." It was only half a joke because whenever Mycroft chose to make a public appearance it had to be serious. He placed a hand on his forehead to rub at his temples which were still wet from the water dripping down his hair.

Mycroft craned his neck to peack over Greg's shoulder for half a second before returning to his previous position. "No I would assume a jealous butcher is your culprit right now, and I actually came here as I require your insight into something."

He almost choked at the absurdity of that statement. "Aren't you literally a supercomputer? What do you need me for?" Hopefully Mycroft would reevaluate things and realize that a meeting was unnecessary, so Greg could leave and go eat.

"I need to know what you have observed of Sherlock's recent behavior as well as other things these last few weeks."

Fuck! Talking about Sherlock wasn't simple like when someone asked about your sister and you could just answer good and be on your marry way. No, talking about Sherlock was a tedious, long, drawnout affair that involved Mycroft's careful analysis of each action. They had spent upwards of several hours just discussion (less discussed more of had one of then explain its revelance to the other) the most minute of details and choices Sherlock made. 

There were exactly three things that were not entirely awful about discussing Sherlock: 1) It proved Mycroft actually fucking cared about his brother. 2) Mycroft also seemed to treat it as a necessity and it was grating even to him so Greg wouldn't be suffering alone. 3) Greg was able to spend a decent amount of time with Mycroft, and for as much as he may complain about the man Greg couldn't deny that he was certainly attractive and unique charm once you got past all the hatred and detest of mankind. Greg only did this because he cared about Sherlock once Mycroft had offered to pay him for it but he declined the offer and now they met out of a mutually worry for his health.

"At least buy me a fucking steak if you want to talk about absolutely fucking nothing for hours and hours on end." It was a long shot but subtlety was abandoned along with any fucks he had left to give. Besides, Mycroft was incapable of making this situation any worse for him (well he could have taken away his umbrella but Mycroft wasn't that childish, usually).

"If you are choosing to invite yourself to lunch I would assume you would start with something less expensive seeing as we don't know who is paying yet. I would assume you might like Indian or Tai food but steak would certainly be filling and you seem to need it with how you skipped out on a proper breakfast this morning."

Greg's respect and admiration towards Mycroft was often a rollercoaster because of shit like this. He would take everything he said and make it as condescending as humanly possible, but Mycroft didn't explicitly state "no" so Greg continued to push to it to see if he weasel a meal out of this. They'd shared meals and drinks before both when discussing and venting about Sherlock, but they had never strayed farther than cheap local restraunts, most of which Greg had introduced Mycroft to.

"Well you are the one who is dragging me to and fro without any notice, and your posh bank accounts can handle one meal so I'm sure you could pay for me." Standard social expectation were put on hold when dealing with a Holmes, so there was no pretence for him to maintain social graces or polite conversation. He could be frank so long as he wasn't needlessly obscene. Whenever that happened Mycroft would scold him like he was a disruptive lad in primary school.

"All true but if I am to pay for us then I should hope I'll at least be permitted to choose where it is we will be getting our steak from." Through out everything he said Mycroft never lost him impeccable composure. 

Greg was sure he must have had an absolutely dumbfounded expression etched across his face. His mouth must have been hanging open in a cartoonish manor with his eyes bugging out from the surprise of Mycroft Fucking Holmes agreeing to buy steak for him, and if it was Mycroft choosing the restaurant then it was probably going to be some posh steak he would never be able to afford even if he saved up for it. He was hoping to benefit from this encounter, but no one would have been able to predict it would have been this fruitful.

Mycroft stood there and took him in before finally breaking the silence thatchad settled between them. "I will have to take your lack of an objection as a yes. I'll go wait in my car while you excuse yourself. Once you have informed your team that you must leave please goin me and we'll be on our way."

As Mycroft pulled back, Greg was brought back to reality as the rain began to pelt him again. The soothing sound of the droplets intact on the umbrella had faded from his senses and he had momentary forgotten about the weather entirely, like most tbung it came back to bite him in the ass. He moved to go inform his team and he saw that Sally had a gruff looking man in the back of their car and John & Sherlock were nowhere to be scene.

Sally came up to him and started, "So I got your butcher and he seems like a real talker. Now tell me, who was that man you were talking to?" He could never have a prince ate life with her around but he also couldn't exactly disclose the nature of Mycroft Holmes.

"He's another problem I have to deal with today. Don't overthink it, he's not in the mob or anything. Head back to the station with your new friend and feel free to start the interrogation without me."

He had started to walk away when she said, "You always leave the fun to me."

He continued his walk away and threw his head over his shoulder to respond, "That's why I'm the DI." He was basically screaming it and if Sally did say anything it was drowned out by the neverending rain.

When he opened the car door he slid inside quickly so it wouldn't get soaked by the rain. The act was pointless because as soon as he sat down on the upholstery it was drenched. "Sorry about the mess Mycroft." He turned his head expecting a judgmental glare but instead saw an extended arm that wash holding a towel out to him. 

Taking the towel Greg brought it to his head and patted his face down before rubbing it in his hair. "Thanks, this was very smart of you to being along."

"Given how often it can rain this time of year it seemed to be almost a necessity if one wants to maintain their appearance." He words were slightly muffled by the towel but they were spoken so cleanly and precisely that there was not way to misheard them. "Whenever you finish drying off your head I would advise you to remove your jacket and wrap it up in the towel."

Greg took the suggestion (it was really more of a command but he was not the kind of person stubborn enough to turn down a good idea) and then set the ball of fabric in the floor, finally able to lean back and relax.

From there the ride was a calm silence. It wasn't quite comfortable but it wasn't awkward either. It had a feeling of mutual understanding between them, where yes they did in fact need to talk but it could wait just a little bit longer. The sound of rain on the hood and windows added to the comfortable stillness. Greg eventually lost track of where they were, he knew they had left the East End given how long the trip was, but he had no way of knowing exactly where they were. Every building they drove past was nice and extravagantly ornate, all places too nice for someone of his social standing. Their quilatiy only increased with each block that passed, until they finally pulled up under the awning of a free standing two story building.

Just looking at it Greg felt too shabby to even be this close to it. The building looked like it would cost more then his entire building with its special metal awning, tinted glass doors with a silver finish to them, rows of arched wonders wrapped around the building, but they maintained enough subtlety to not look gaudy.He didn't even know the name because it was printed on the front of the awning and he didn't get a good look while they were pulling in.

"Look Mycroft I'm not sure if you enjoy making me look like a dunce in public, but could you have chosen a less ritzy place." His hair was a mess, half his suit was crumpled from being under his jacket, and the other half was still damp from where it wasn't covered by his jacket. Would they kick him out for looking like trash? They might just say that he didn't meet the required dress code or something like that and ask him to leave. If he was forced to leave would Mycroft just abandon him here and force him to find his own way back to work? How much would a cab cost? Did they even have cabs in this neighborhood?

"Detective Inspector could you stop overthinking and please follow me? They won't refuse to serve you and don't worry about your less than preferable appearance, it's a Monday so they aren't busy and there will be very few people who see you like this." He walked ahead and Greg followed him wordlessly.

Any reassurance he felt from Mycroft's words outside were immediately dashed when he entered the building. The visible was was entirely composed of dark warm tones that mixed with the low lighting emanating off of overhead light fixtures at each individual table. The tables were made on the smaller side and each only had two chairs to them, though Greg's eyes were still adjusting to the sudden change in lighting so it was possible he was wrong. 

However from what he could see, It was a restuarant meant for couples who wanted to be romantic not two semi platonic men who wanted to talk about the mental of health of one's brother. The only people he saw were three older couples all dressed as finely as Mycroft, and the host who was currently talking to Mycroft while ignoring him. The girl then gesturing for them to follow her back to a table. Greg trailing closely behind them like a lost duckling.

The table was a small two seater set against a darkly tinted window with a light overhead and plates & cutlery already set up. It looked no more unique than the other spots in the restaurant aside from its proximity to the wall. 

The hostess let them each take a seat and then handed them their menus before excusing herself.

This was a place meant for old money. People who had lived in excess wealth for generations, whonever onew what it was like to go without. Every crevice of the room screamed excessive indulgence, everywhere except Greg. An alley cat that had wandered in through the rear entrance would have been about as welcome as he felt. He'd dealt with a few people that could afford to live like this, but growing up he never imagined he would be acquaintances with someone living in the upper crust of society.

Mycroft had forgone the wine list and went straight to the menu to look at actual food. Greg conversely didn't even bother with opening up the menu, it was time to be realistic. "Mycroft we both know I won't order properly so please just order for the table. It's just easier than having to embarrass myself." He felt shame burning his cheeks in his moment of weakness, but floundering an order would definitely be worse for his self esteem. Greg didn't even want to see the price tags on the menu items, each one would have been outside of his budget before the divorce. Now, that he had to deal with the absurd alimony he paid each month, Greg couldn't even comprehend paying such a hefty price for just one meal.

"Of course detective. I'll assume you are fine with water. Drinking right now would not be advisable given that you have to follow this with work, and I do hold you in high enough regard to believe you are not a day drinker."

Then Greg remembered something he never considered on the ride over. He only had 45 minutes for lunch and the ride over had take at the very minimum thirty so he was going to go far over that limit and get reprimanded for it. "How far are we from New Scotland Yard? I know you need to talk about Sherlock, but I do have to get back to work before I'm gone for too long." Though they had likely reached 'too long' at this point anyway.

Greg's voice would have sounded positively frantic if he managed to speak again. Just the thought of suspension, a pay reduction, or even possibly being fired for this would be the fucking death. Some days he could only just scrape by as is and losing his job would mean going to jail because he would be unable to pay his wife the required alimony. Maybe he could run to a popular street and pray to find a cab there, if he hurried he might be able to get back before 12:30 and his boss may overlook this infraction. 

He tried to stand but was stopped when Mycroft placed his hand on his forearm. "Gregory breath. My office has called and told your bosses that your service was required. They were not given the specifics, but enough was divulged to prevent any slander to your character." 

His whole body felt like it deflated at the proclamation. The saddest part was that this had been happening more often recently. There was always a persistent anxiety problem but it was expedited by his divorce. Paranoia had set in and was making him fear the most minute slip ups, thinking that any mistake would result in the absolute worst case scenario. 

Coming down from the panic he noticed the menus had been taken and they each had a glass of water. Meaning Mycroft ordered while he was losing control and he worried about how obvious his distress had been to the staff.

"You may want to see a therapist or psychiatrist to get a prescription to help with your anxiety. I imagine as a police officer it can be quite detrimental to your job." Mycroft sounded genuinely concerned. Greg had only ever heard that tone back when he and Mycroft found Sherlock in a drug den, and they were concerned he had overdosed for the final time. It was touching to know someone other than Sally cared about his well being.

"I-I should. Sorry if I made a scene in front of the staff."

"No it was fine. You came off as more stressed than anything else."

Greg took a sip of his water to try and calm himself down a bit more. "So you wanted to discuss Sherlock?" Getting back to work and taking his mind off the issue would help him a great deal.

"Yes I did." He always tried to sound so official and diplomatic when it came to Sherlock, yet small glimpses of emotions always managed to slip through the cracks. It was like the mention of his brother reminded him he wasn't supposed to feel anything, but he could only do so much to stop himself. "How is he? Has he done anything illegal without my knowledge lately? Has there been any reason to suspect he is meeting with others besides John?"

"He's been...better." _ How do you even define Sherlock? Trying to use basic ideas and terms felt so inadequate when it came to the pain in the arse._ "Today he seemed a bit off, but that may have just been because he was drenched from head to toe at what he deemed a 'disappointing murder' scene. Only he would describe a double homicide as disappointing." Mycroft's expression remained neutral at his pathetic attempt at humor, so Greg trudged onward. "Don't worry he hasn't done any drugs recently. If he did Sally would have arrested him sooner than we could get the test results back. Now, as for any relationship, I only know of John, Mrs. Hudson, and myself. There may be Irene Adler but legally she is still dead." He had finished his part so now he would be asked a litany of overly specific questions.__

_ __ _

_ __ _

"That's good." 

Greg waited for more and received no further verbal responses.

"That's good. That's all you want to say? Normally you ask me a billion questions about every single thing and then ask a billion more questions for each of my answers. Then by the end I'm sick of you riding my back like my college rugby coach, but we both have piece if mind after wards. Then we say goodbye share a smoke here or there at a crime scene and suddenly a month has passed and we're right back here all over again" During his little rant Greg had evidently become too loud, and the few other people inside were all casting angry looks in his direction."Sorry, 'bout that."

"You played rugby?" Mycroft's eyes were round like saucers when he popped the question.

This was not how he through the conversation would proceed, but if Mycroft was willing to overlook his faux pas then he would gladly change subjects. "Yes I played while at university and it was honestly more effort than I really think it was worth because we never got any better at playing even with all the practices and exercise we went through." _Seems like a redundant question especially when coming from Mycroft. _ "Don't play coy, I'm sure you have all this information sitting in some overly detailed file of me. You prolly got it tucked back in some filing cabinet of your office."__

_ __ _

_ __ _

Mycroft face was flushed and he took a moment to respond but Greg assumed it was because he wasn't used to people acknowledging the existence of files on them.

....

Mycroft's entire career was based of his ability to take in data and make leaps on outcomes or examine the most probable scenarios in past events. This was all very helpful until his imagination got a hold of him. In this instance it was the idea of Gregory playing rugby.

He could imagine his fine body pushing itself to the limit to score and getting covered in mud in the process. The way his thighs would look in those unnecessarily revealing shorts surely had driven many men and women to pursue him the moment he was available. 

_How would his legs flex and move with each powerful motion? How would he look in those same shorts now? were there any picture left of him from all those years ago___

_ __ _

_ __ _

Then his mind drifted to more revealing, inappropriate ideas. Like Gregory in only a jockstrap. He knew the detective had a large rump, it was obvious even in his loose fitting suits, and a jockstrap would only make it look bigger. His body must certainly be fit even at 45 and it would all be on display in the minimal coverage piece of clothing. He knew if Gregory was hard it would stretch the fabric out and no doubt that would allow his silvery pubic hairs to pop out of the sides and frame his cock perfectly.

He thought of more irrational scenarios like Gregory cooking in only a jockstraps and an apron that was cut so thin his nipples would be showing. Him running on his treadmill until he was glistening from his own perspiration, or the thought or edging and toying with one another for hours until they both lost control and caved in, begging to finish.

By a miracle of miracles he snapped himself from his fantasies before they were allowed to progress any further, and he returned his attention to the real Gregory sitting across from him at the table.

....

"Most files are much less detailed before someone first job after university. We mostly only have transcripts and addresses from before then because we don't anticipate any relationships to last if they were formed before that point. Of course that is if we did have files on people." The usher on his face had almost fully dissipated and his body relaxed to the slightest extent possible. "I'm sorry your team was unable to ever improve, but most smaller schools are unable to advance against larger ones. It isn't fair but it is hard to combat the issue. Certain schools simply lack the money or accommodations to draw in valuable players, so they must make the most of what they have to work with"

"Well I didn't exactly have hope for a winning season, but winning two consecutive matches also turned out to be extreme idea. I take it you didn't play rugby, did you?" 

"No I don't believe I did, in fact I don't think we had a single team for any sports at all. We were much more focused on developing mentally and making scientific discoveries. Not quite a typical experience I suppose."

"Every time we talk I envy your success just a bit more." It was good to talk like this with someone. He could just say anything and not worry about harsh judgement for it. _ Actually, Mycroft is definitely judging me, but he had the social grace to not say it out loud. ___

_ __ _

_ __ _

"Yes well not all that glimmers is gold."

"If I've reduced you to referencing Tolkien then I will equate that to rendering you speechless. So I can now say I left possibly the smartest man in the world speechless." He had an unnecessarily large grim on his face and the both knew there was no malicious intent behind it.

"I don't quite follow your logic but I'll go along with it to make up for your rugby team and its constant losses. Also I might suggest soccer if you want to win." He shared a playful grin on his face. It was subtly but if you knee Mycroft it would have been impossible to miss.

"Yes I'll remember to play a game in the rain between my stacks of paperwork. Last I had heard they still advise against playing in the rain unless you wanted pneumonia, or has that been overturned?"

"Feel free to play outside just be properly prepared." They shared a light chuckle and their banter. "And was there a reason you didn't have an umbrella or a thicker jacket on today?"

_ Shit, this is not how i wanted anything to go. Making it here without my appearance becoming a topic of conversation had been pure luck, and now it had run out. Now, I've got to look this man in the eye and confess what a poor sad soul i am. ___

_ __ _

_ __ _

"Well I always lose them." It was a short and simple answer. If he was lucky then Mycroft would refrain from answering any flow up questions, but he reserved no hope for that outcome.

"You could always buy a new one?"

"And then I'll find all of them and I'll have 200 umbrellas and nothing to do with them aside from losing them all over again. Might as well skip to the end and leave them lost."

"Maybe a coat would be better. Something so big you cant possibly lose it. And maybe with a hood to keep your head dry."

"That could work, a waterlogged DI doesn't really intimidate suspects the way you think it would." Things were decidedly less condescending than he had feared they may be.

Two plates were brought over and the conversation was interrupted so they could eat their meal.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comments and critiques are always appreciated. Let me know if any grammatical errors, I try to proof read but I always miss a few things.


	3. Mucking

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Paperwork is a bitch. and emotions hurt.

The lunch was fucking magical in comparison to what Greg was used to (well it would have been jsut as amazing even to someone who ate better than him, but the point still stands), and he would have preferred to focus on the luxurious meal in stead of the paperwork that greeted him as he opened his office door. The stack was notably larger than it had been earlier before he had to leave for Sherlock's spontaneous double homicide. Said double homicide had to have contributed a sizable amount of the paperwork what had been on his to do list. He would be in charge of reviewing statements and evidence, making sure that the chain of custody was properly maintained, and if life really wanted to let him down from earlier he would also have to mull over anything said during Sally's interrogation to find a slip of the tongue that could form a good stable connection between their current suspect and the crime at hand. 

"Fuck it all." The door had closed behind him so none of his subordinates would have heard him. The dull greys of his office always came off as duller after a meeting with Mycroft. Maybe it was connected to the posh, deep colors that adorned the rooms Mycroft entered. God, even knowing the man was likely a killer he still had a charm about him (sometimes that charm made someone want to break his nose but no one was perfect, and that may have said more about Greg's emotional turmoil than it did about Mycroft's personality). There was always the chance it came from Greg romanticising their encounters as he recalled them, but that was not something to focus on right now. First came paperwork then personal issues.

The number of times he had scribbled down his signature was nauseating and his mind drifted to how this stood in such contrast to the insanity of his life. Just in the last year he had gotten divorced and evicted, he started to develop a crush on a dangerous member of the British Government, and then Sherlock's sister died. 

Oh lord, that had been a fucking trip to go through. It took Mycroft, Sherlock, and a woman who may or man not have been Irene Adler (because Irene was legally dead), to prove that yes it was undeniably the body of Euras Holmes that had been decapitated at Sherinford. The brothers had been a mess of anxiety as they tried to prove and rationalize the situation and it took a lot of coaxing and several bottles of whiskey to survive the month. They loitered around his office at all hours of the day like Lady Macbeth, always ghosting about but too full of fear to actually do anything not directly related to the issue. 

At one point, the night they had confirmed that it was indeed her, Anthea was busy with the all the duties Mycroft had ignored while making sure Euras was actually dead so it fell to Greg to get Mycroft into a car to send him home. It should have been easy to shove the overtly drunk man into the waiting car and be on his way, but Mycroft simply wouldn't have it and he pulled Greg inside the back seat with him. He landed on top of the man, and the driver was signaled to start as Mycroft managed to shut the door while layig down, Greg never once was given the opportunity to buckle since Mycroft wouldn't let him sit up, so the first few blocks were spent in his futile attempt to get out of Mycroft's deceptively strong hold.

During the ride the stress seemed to have been broken and let a softer side of Mycroft come out, like the soothing breeze in the aftermath of a vicious hurricane. He was radiating calm in an almost worrying way when compared to his usually micromanaged presentation to the rest of the word.

The memory was carefully etched into Greg's mind for a myriad of reason. That had been the second time he bore witness to the inside of those unsubtle black government cars and it was the first time he saw Mycroft's house. He must have underestimated how rich the man was because he owned a full sized house in the nicer part of London and it even had multiple floors to really flaunt his disposable income. He felt broke just being in the neighborhood, standing in the shadow of the elegant abode. Greg never made it inside cause by the time they had reached the house Mycroft had sobered up enough to separate himself from Greg and apologize profusely for his behavior before instructing the driver to take him home. He was never sure if the blush staining his face was from the alcohol or from being flustered and confused.

That had all been back before the divorce was even finalized. He could still say he lived in a home rather than a flat at the time, but he hated being home. It involved attempting to coexist with someone who hated him and the tension between them never dissipated. Even now he took extra steps to avoid any place Mary was likely to frequent.

"Paperwork, focus on the paperwork." He mumbled under his breath in a pathetic attempt to refocus himself on the necessary tasks assigned to him. They always told him the worst part of being a cop was the paperwork, but it still didn't prepare him for the reality of it. That honestly should have been part of training as well, an entire week dedicated solely to just filling out forms to keep up with the regulations so you don't accidentally do something illegal.

His attention was caught on the paper he just pulled up. It was the interrogation form and profile from the butcher they had apprehended earlier in the day. Accord to the paper his name was Brent Lionel. "Parents are just setting their children up to fail if they give them a name like fucking Brent." The man had surprisingly confessed as soon as he was asked if he had done it and was requesting a plea deal. Too bad that for a double homicide a plea deal would be basically the same as a full guilty verdict. He signed his signature where it was needed and moved it over to the small pile of completed forms.

He had sunk so low that he would have preferred to answer emails but if he was this distracted with just paper and his thoughts, how bad would it get if he had the internet at his disposal? Maybe if he alternated? But then that would take even longer to get it all done. It was a moot point and he needed to return to these papers.

Initially he was excited to watch the stack of unfinsubed worm grow smaller and smaller as he filled out the forms, but the feeling had receded along with his enthusiasm over the years. He was still glad once his IN tray was empty and his OUT tray was full, but it was disheartening to know that it would just be reversed again when he came into work the next day.

Back when he worked hourly instead of salary he would almost welcome all the work, because it meant more overtime and therefore more money. But, being a Detective Inspector with a yearly salary meant no matter how long he took to do it he always took home a paycheck of the same size. It was still more money in his pocket (or it would have been if it didn't all go to his ex-wife) but it was a way to bite him in the arse even when something pleasant happened. Like receiving free food only find that you are allergic to one of the ingredients and either can't eat it or realize too late and have to be rushed off to A&E.

He was more fucked up than he thought if a confession to a double homicide was failing to hold his attention as well as his divorce could. Probable a side effect of having his work and personal life overrun with crime lords, hallucinogenic drugs, corrupt politicians, and an incessant worry that at any given moment one of London's drug dens could be housing the corpse of one of the smartest men to ever walk the earth. No wonder Mycroft talked about running on a treadmill for hours at a time and drank only whiskey or scotch, the stress was suffocating for him and someone of Mycroft's status would have it even worse.

Every thought eventually went back to Mycroft. He was just so interesting. More than once Lestrade had entertained the idea of how Mycroft could have been different. What if he was like Sherlock, brahd and abrasive while he acted as a minor celebrity, or maybe he could have worked in the private sector instead of the public sector? With his skills he could have put Carnegie and Rockefeller to shame. What if Greg had actually flirted with him like had been tempted to do many times? For christs's sake he knew Mycroft before the met the woman he married and he knew he would know him long after the wounds of the divorce healed (if that ever even happened). Mycroft could have been so different than he was, but the one Gregory got to see was the perfectly posh iceman and he loved it that way more than he should have. He was cunning and sharper than a knife. He had plans and ideas and a thousand contingencies in place for a thousand little tragedies that might never occur. Knowing someone so secure and collected, yet sill vulmerable made him feel at ease. There was someone in his life who was prepared in case something went wrong.Sure, he wasn't prepared to help him, but knowing stability did exist help him in ways he'd rather not dwell on.

They shared their concern for Sherlock and plenty of inconvenient situation that thay had been subjected to because of him. Had it not been for Sherlock they never would have met, what would a genius like Mycroft want to do with a washed up, divorcee like him? Maybe flag him down to assist on a government matter, but that was unlikely.

A monstrous crackle of thunder was heard and felt in the shaking of the ground. While stuck in his internal reflection the storm had progressed to a torrential downpour.

"Its a fuckin monsoon out there." His head was in his hands when he thought of having to walk back to the tube in these conditions, and then getting back to his flat from the station would only be worse. The soul saving grace is that no one would be able to see his sad form crossing the threshold looking like a waterlogged pitbull.

Glancing at the clock showed the time to be 6:32. It had been a good ten or so hours of work, even with Sherlock and Mycroft interrupting him, and the stack of forms that had been filled out was now twice that of the forms he still had to do. Should his superiors question his productivity he could always fall back on the excuse of dealing with a double homicide and they would have trouble arguing against that.

_ Now, that's deplorable. Citing someone else's death as an excuse to get out of work, amd he really didnt feel horrible for it. It's not like he desecrated them or anything, only disrespected them. And on that note all the time spent in the company of the Holmes brothers had begun to leave a notable impact.___

_ _

_ _Finally deciding to brace the storm he took his jacket and got in the lift to the ground floor. The receptionist gave him a pleasant smile and he paused in front of the class doors at the sheets of water came pummeling down on the glass, there was an awning over the doors and they still were getting hit by the brunt of it. Even with his jacket on his trousers wouldn't be salvageable and if water got under his jacket his coat and dress short would be ruined as well. Lestrade was going to need an angel of kindness to help him in a situation like this and unlike the myriad of setbacks that had been thrown at him all day, this time lady luck came through._ _

_ __ _

_ __ _

Just past the sidewalk there sat a familiar black car with the headlights still on. Lestrade tucked his arms around his body and jogged over to the vehicle as fast a he could without risking slipping on the wet pavement. Exactly as he had assumed it would, the door opened just before he approached and he was able to slide inside in much the same manner as this morning.

"Have you been stalkin' me? Not the best use of time is't." He really couldn't be bothered to care about Mycroft's invasion of his privacy when in meant he could get back to his apartment dry or at least close to it. He was pretty damp and the water had already managed to get inside his shoes and soak his sock, but it was better than the alternative.

"In a sense I guess it might qualify as stalking, but I see it as maintaining the well being of important people." His umbrella was in the floorboard and he looked like he felt perfectly comfortable leaning against the bulletproof window.

Mycroft said he was important. Did he mean he was important to him personally or was it just because he helped with Sherlock? "What makes me important? There's got to be dozens of DI's that could watcher Sherlock."

Only now did Mycroft turn his head away from the window to make eye contact with Lestrade. "You are important because you don't just watch him, you also attempt to be his friend regardless of his endless stream of insults to your character. I know plenty of men and women who would claim that they could do the same but would surely give up in only a day. And it's always nice to have someone to talk to who I don't have to worry will try and use every word I say as blackmail. Sometimes having a companion is nice."

Companion. That's what he was to Mycroft, a companion. It wasn't what he expected or what he hoped for, but it was still good. It was a place to start. "So it's like Nanny McPhee where he drove off person after person until finally someone stuck around through all the tomfoolery? I guess I'm just his babysitter then."

"It seems unfitting to classify running around England solving peculiar murder cases as tomfoolery, and I must say Sherlock didn't get rid of quite everyone on his own. My intervention removed several unsavory characters from his company." He let his body slump in the seat loosing the posture that had been drilled into him from years of selective schools and strict school teachers. "And honestly I would say John is his babysitter not you." There was a light chuckle and then the driver was signaled to start off.

"Yes poor John has his plate full with Rosie and Sherlock." He recuperated the light tone but he needed to ask a deeper more personal question to quell his own internal curiosity. "Can I ask you an invasive question." Maybe he only imagined the slight quiver in his voice.

"From your tone and posture I take it this will be a more involved question than just why I picked you up from work." So far there was no sign of malice in his voice.

"Yes it is and you'll prolly hate me after I ask it." His back was not as straight as it could be and his hands had been neatly folded in his lap where the fingers were twitching from the anxiety.

"Detective Inspector you are for too important for me to develop a hatred of you." There he was throwing around that word important again. Greg knew he wasn't exactly normal, but he assumed that at the very least he would know that important described something more than just a comrade to normal people. When he never responded Mycroft said," Proceed." With a slight nod of his head indicating that Greg ask his question.

"Well, I just wanted to know why you do it the way you do. You protect Sherlock because you care about him and you worry even if he despises you. You do it because you are a decent person and that's what any decent person would do, but why do you do it with the cars, taking people to construction sites and offering them large sums of money if then monitor him. If you want to protect Sherlock then why not do it in a way that he knows about so he knows you care. He knows you do it anyway, hell he even confronted me about it after I rejected your offer but why keep it up? Why all the effort for nothin?" He expected the car to pull to a stop and to find himself thrown out onto the side walk, where he would either be forced to walk home or be killed and have his body disappear. Neither thing happened, he still sat across the bench from Mycroft who was currently sporting a puzzled expression but didn't answer his questions.

The longer the silence dragged on for the more he believed that he was being taken to some silent training facility to be used for sniper target practice. If he lived passed today he did need to go to see a doctor about his anxiety and maybe putting down the spy novels would help too. "Sorry. Sorry. I know that was a bit more than you were expecting. You can just let me out here and I'll walk to a station. I'm sorry again, Just forget all of this and we can ignore it in the future. Really I didn't mean to make thing awkward."

Once the last apology was uttered Mycroft finally spoke. "No you damned dunce I'm not going to let you out in this rain and leave you to catch your death." His figure was angled toward Lestrade and, the anger filling him was almost palpable, but just as quickly it was replaced with a weary defensive look that had Mycroft slightly curling in on himself. When he spoke it was to a quiet tone he had never head the man use before. "I don't know how. All I have ever done is drive people away and intimidate them with intelligence or power. This is the only way I know how to do things. I can read people and know their secrets,but I am unable to understand them and why they do things the way they do." He was completely doubled over on himself by this point and his voice was bordering on hysterical, which was ever more terrifying coming from Mycroft.

Greg moved over to sit him up and placed an arm around his shaking body while letting Mycroft's head rest against his shoulder. This was more intimate than what would normally be considered okay between people of their status but it seemed absolutely necessary to stop things from getting worse.

"Why, why does it hurt to talk and hurt just as much to be silent about this." Two long arms wrapped hesitantly around his torso. They were desperate for touch but unsure of what was allowed and what crossed into something uncomfortable.

Greg wanted to stoke Mycroft's hair he truly did but there was crossing the line a little and then there was punting a ball clear across it. He only rubbed against that bony shoulder and gave his most comforting words. "It hurts because letting it all out is like an open wound. You keep it in from fear of fuckin it up and then when it's all out you think this is the end. It heals over time but the longer you hold it in the more it hurts." He was going to go to hell. Straight down to meet with Judas and Brutus. He was here with Mycroft in his moment of absolute weakness and he was using it to satiate his desperate need for human contact and an unrequited love for the man.

"It's so lonely sometimes." The words were slow and deliberate, like he had worked on how the phrase it for years and now it was all coming out but not how he planned. Greg had forced him to confront issues he had long buried but it was something he needed to do to retain his sanity. These were not the words one spoke haphazardly, this was a deep personal truth. "I have so much and know so little. Everyday I wake up I think about how I have so few people who care about me. I have Anthea and John by proxy and no one else." He could feel the beginnings of tears forming in his eyes.

"You have me."

"What?" Mycroft didn't look up, his voice slightly muffled from being pressed into Lestrade's jacket.

"You have me. I care about you." He took the chance and stooped stroking his shoulder to thread his fingers into that auburn hair. 'I care about you as Mycroft Holmes not just as the Brother to Sherlock. When we meet I enjoy the conversation and the wit of it all. You are the only person who talks to me and never tries to bring up my ex-wife or set me up with someone new. Around you I can just exist without so much social pretext." Mycroft had been forced to bare his sound so it was only fair for Greg to do the same.

Mycroft finally craned his neck up and they made eye contact at last. Those cloudy, watery orbs were filled with relief. "Thank you."

"It's no trouble we all have our issues."

"Please don't leave me. I'm not good at losing people."

"I won't, don't worry about that."

"I know that tomorrow I will regret this moment of vulnerability but for now I hope we can enjoy it." 

"Let's just relax for a bit."

The ride was silent except for the soothing sound of water on the car. This was a step beyond comradery or friendship, and Greg would have been fine for that if only he was able to predict what the next step beyond this would be. Their relationship was permanently changed due to a courteous car trip but what that meant for their future was undetermined.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Euras is fucking dead. She ain't coming back. I hate her, I hate how in most fics with her she fucks up Sherlock and Mycroft and basically reprogram them. I hate that people put her in a relationship with sherlock and Mycroft which is wrong on so many levels. I hate her character and I find her worse than Moriarty. The bitch is dead and she has no relevance on to the plot but I just wanted to write that she was fucking dead.
> 
> Please comment and leave any criticisms you may have. The next chapter will be up soon.
> 
> Leave comments please.


	4. Tuesday's Grey

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Aftermath from Monday.

The Diogenes left him severely out of his element. Extravagant private rooms that existed solely for rich individuals to sit in and drink their whiskey were quite different from the pubs he frequented. One thing was similar between the two though, the eye fucking that went on between two desperate people. Mycroft would surely call it something else like eager glances but it wholly and entirely eye fucking one another.

He couldn't remember why he had been invited over and even if he could he wouldn't have cared about it. Greg had a new prerogative, ruin Mycroft Holmes and make a mess of him. The cost warm light of the fire was creating a pastel effect across those delicate features and pale skin and right now he wanted to see them crying out in please.

He lost count of how many glasses he'd had but he was too coherent to be drunk. He would put money down that Mycroft wasnt drunk either, considering the man lived off alcohol and the crushed dreams of others. Them bothcbeing sober meant he would regret his decision less in the morning. When Mycroft stood to refill his tumbler he made his move. One a fluod motion he approached the man, turned his around and pressed him against the wall next to the table.

"Lestrade what are you-?"

"I want to make an absolute fuxking mess out of you and ruin this suit forever." It was almost a grown and he pushed his lips against the thin pink ones across from him.

Mycroft made it evident that he had no objections when both hands flew up to table in fine grey locks. Greg pulled his closer by moving one arm between his shoulder blades and the other resting under that jacket at the small of his back. It wasn't as much skin to skin contact as he would have liked, but this was a starting point. He mad eup for it by grinding into his hip and he could heel a hard pressure against how own thigh. He was unable to feel the exact size of it due to the thick material of those dress pants but the was at least average and that was fine. He'd never actually been with a bloke before so he didn't want to do anything stupid. 

The kissing continued as ravenous as it was when they started. Greg was claiming that mouth and inter twinges their tongues while he explored the other. Leaving a mark on the pale flesh of thayxneck would have been ideal but neither of them had the patience to deal with all those buttons, instead Greg moved his hand down to rest on the curve of that trunk and squeeze slightly.

There was a muffled ground and then Mycroft was pulling back slightly. "Gregory!"

"Sorry love but I've been dreamin of doing that for years." His self satisfied grin only grew when Mycroft finally called him by his first name.

Mycroft had removed one hand from his hair and started to let it descend downward from his chest. "I don't mind entertaining your ideas but please tell me them before you choose to try them." Greg looked puzzled as the hand got to his waist. It was able to slip right into his trousers because he wasnt wearing a belt. Mycroft began to slowly stroke and grope him through the fabric of his boxer briefs. "See it can be much more pleasurable if we're on the same page."

"Oh, oh, okay." It was unfair that he had managed to turn this all around on him, and now he was actually pudgy in his hands.

"Well there is always next time for use to try something more...adventurous." His hand had slipped under the stretching boxer briefs and it just took Mycroft wrapping a hand around his bare skin for him to go off.

"Aaaahhhhhhhh." And he had the rude awakening of finding himself gushing into his boxer briefs as he came down from his wet dream. He had read a few trash novels that involved such things and he always assume they over emphasized the humiliation around the act, he was dead fucking wrong. Even in the afterglow of it he felt shameful. He had such little control over himself that he came from a dream of Mycroft just touching him. There would be a time to worry about what that meant once he was cleaned up.

The clean up should have involved a shower but it was 3:00 in the morning and he already slept like shit as it was, so he took of his underwear and cleaned himself off with a damp flannel. It wasnt the most thorough job ever but it would be fine for half asleep. He grabbed the first pair of underwear in his drawer which happened to be a pair of neon purple briefs he had bought so long ago and hardly even wore. It was perfectly fitting to sleep in, because that's what you do with old clothes you dont tend to wear in public. He slipped them on and they had to stretch a bit to cover his arse since they were old and had shrunk but he was too tired to care and plopped back down into bet with all the grace of a stingray.

The sheets had been spared from being soaked so he allowed himself to tangle in the sheets until he ended up on his stomach with parts of his body covered and other parts exposed to the night air. It was a necessity given the combination of humidity and sudden changes in temperatures. He slept with the image of Mycroft with his eyes blown wide in his head 

....

"BEEP"  
"BEEP"  
"BEEP"

He slammed his hand down on the machine to silence it. One day it would break from him hitting it too hard and that wasnt inherently a bad thing. He hoped today would be firrerebt from yesterday and it was, the rain was coming down even harder that it had been just last night. Today even inside his flat he could faintly hear the rain coming down against his door and one of his walls. 

"Rain." When they called it the rainy season he hope people were just being hyperbolic about it, but they weren't. Chances are he wouldn't even see the sun six days this month. Only rain, rain, more rain, thunderstorm, flash floods, and yet still more rain. Why did people settle this island in the first place if the weather was always this bad. He loved his home but bloody fuck did it lack a regulated climate.

Sitting up he stretched and ignored the myriad of bones popping in his back like he did every morning of his life. Now upright he saw the discarded boxers from the night before. The fading memories of his dream were brought to the forefront of his thoughts and he couldn't escape the clean message they were giving him.

He was in love with Mycroft Holmes.

In the last he'd always foind Mycroft interesting and then slowly he grew to appreciate his presence. It got worse (or better depending on how you saw it) in recent months when he was feeling vulnerable after the divorce and Mycroft was there to comfort him without being invasive and aggressively supportive. The incident from the car ride last night was the final nail in his coffin. When you cuddle with someone while sharing your mutual emotional turmoil it has to mean something and clearly his subconscious interpreted it as try to shag the man.

Being a shoulder to cry on during an emotional moment that he caused was one thing but attempting to romance or even sleep with him was a different scenario entirely. How was he supposed to approach a relationship with man, and it was doubly awkward when he was a genius and the brother of the world's only consulting detective, and also a high ranking official in the British government. He had chosen the most difficult man in the world to fall for but it was too late to go back now, just attempt to forge ahead or get comfortable where he was. The first option didn't look like it was going anywhere and the second one required less effort so he would go with the proverbial flow for a time and see what happened.

Stepping into the shower was better than yesterday's was. The water was no hotter but it reached its luke warm temperature in under a minute so small wanders still existed. It was one of the days he needed to thoroughly clean himself and that meant shampoo plus conditioner for his hair and intricate use of bodywahs against his skin. He lathered the two-on-one into his hair amd he was going to let it sit while he worked on his torso. It was uneventful but he was mindful of hke long he took so he would be fully cleaned by the time the water began to really run cold. His arms, torso, and thighs had. even cleaned and he moved to rinse the product out of his hair. The experience of water against his scalp was always soothing to him and he didn't know why, only that if felt good.

Stepping out of the shower and drying off he was forced to confront his reflection finally. His hair was as mess and unruly as he knew it would be after a shower but even though his eyes were sunken in he thought his skin held a lightness to it. Granted that may have been his lack of proper sunlight making him look like an apparition, but to him it seemed healthy even if he did not know the cause. He looked at his face and choose to be lazy and let his stubble grow out for one more day.

He deposited his dowel in his already full laundry hamper and padded over to the dresser to pull out the clothes he would be wearing under his suit. It turns out that ignoring his laundry had left him with one pair of underwear and one undershirt. The underwear was a pair of fire engine red briefs that he remembered getting even longer ago than th pair he slipped into last night. The undershirt was faded from constant use and he didn't even have plain tee shirt he could wear with it. Realizing their were no alternative he put them on and then worked on his suit. 

The familiar movements were mindless but he felt a pang of hunger in hisbstomache that was stronger than usual. After Mycroft dropped him off at his flat he went to bed immediately after the odd experience in the car. Most days waint till lunch was fine but that was under the assumption that he wasn't shaken up by emotional revelations and left too mentally occupied to realize the implications of skipping another meal. 

He may just have to take his lunch at 10:00 and see if he could coerce Sally into waiting until 1:30 and try to get her to bring him a pastry or something similar. Lestrade tried not to be a greedy man but his eating habits apparently impacted his whole team.

His shoes were on and the sad jacket was on as well and it was the moment of despair where he thought about the complications of feigning sickness so he didn't have to go outside. But even beyond possible reprimands, whagxwas he going to do if he did stay home? Look a tbus four walls and scroll through page after page of unimportant articles on his phone. And the paperwork was added onto his work load even if he didn't show up so it would be the same amount of work be was putting in at the end of it all.

"Outside." He had to verbally force himself to focus on leaving so he could get to his office before anyone saw him soaked to the bone. He mad either outside and sk far his head was protected by the awning of bus building. When he turned to lock his door behind him there was a grey umbrella on the knob. It had to have been Mycroft because he was the only one who knew about Greg's umbrella troubles and it was identical to Mycroft's umbrella in everything except the color of the material. It must have been his way of apologizing for the previous night and even though Greg didn't see an apology as necessary this would still keep the rain off his back for his trip to work. After than it would only be a matter of time before she lost this one as well.

....

Walking inside New Scotland Yard without water dripping off him was a pleasure that could only experience if you were forced to live without it before. He was less tense and concerned about. being spotted, because there was very little about bjs appearance to critique. The coffee was just as shitty as he thought it would be but the world at large was looking brighter even on this rainy Tuesday.

His office had exactly two things out of place a small paper box that had a piece of wax paper sticking out form the edge of it. And next to it was a small glass vase containing a single while tulip. He would have to look up the signifigance of the flower later but this also appeared to be a peace offering from Mycroft. Opening the box revealed a rather large glazed apple fritter and it meant more to him than the umbrella had. Food was always a perfect gift especially to someone like him. He mahcfeel guilty about all of this later but in the moment it was wonderful to experience

....

He had no need for an alarm because she had woken up at the same time every morning for the last 26 years of his life. Even in middle school he was getting up at 5:00 AM for school and his body acclimated to this sleep schedule. It was irrelevant when we went to sleep the previous night or where in the world he was, his body always woke from sleep at 5:00 London time.

It was particularly rough this morning since he spent most of the previous night reviewing his actions in the car with Gregory Lestrade. Every moment and syllable had been examined for smy subtext or emotional meeting and it left him with one conclusion. Lestrade wished to attenlt a romantic relationship with him but did not know how to go about it. They had only shared a few hours a week together and a long term relationship would require substantial more time together so their compatibility was paramount to it. being successful. He could not possible rush this, it was not even a full year since the divorce had taken place and if he hurt the Detective Inspector emotionally it would have long term effects on how he perceived romance and romantic partners. He wanted to have a relationship with Gregory but he knew that should one kf them change their mind the relationship should end in a more even way than his last one had.

He noticed every change in behavior and disposition the man had exerted in the after of it. The handshakes that linger on a little too long just to touch someone. How his shoulders would relax where he offered to pay even if it was something cheap and simple. He was almost brought to tears when Mycroft had gifted him a pair of shoes after his trainers broke when they had met up on a weekend. 

The stress about money led him to revire the terms of the divorce and when he found that more than half of the DI's salary was going to his wife for alimony he investigated further. Logically it was irrational for Lestrade to pay Mary when she was the one who cheated on him, so he dug and found that every both attorneys and the judge had personal connections to her. In the recorded testimony she signted negligence duentk Lestrade's long work hours and that fact actively angered him. This woman hat coerced a good man into marrying her so she could stack s trial against him to receive most of the money he was making. Even seeing the complex Gregory was living in hurt him, because it required nearly an hour on public transport just to go one way and it was in shambles. He had been reduced to living like he had just gotten his first job instead of like the man who had dedicated decades of his life to his work.

The fury that had spread caused his hands to clench and almost tear the seams of the delicate fabric that made his shirt. He had enough evidence to stop Gregory's payout and even for the bitch to return every dollar she had received but he was going to let the man have a time where he didn't have to worry about excessive things before bringing it to his attention.

He received a notification on his mobile while pulling up his dress pants. It read "everything is in place sir." The moment he composed himself after Gregory had been deposited at his flat Mycroft went into action to make amends for his emotional outburst. First was a large umbrella much like his. It would be harder to lose and even if he did the man would have gotten at the minimum, on good trip out of it. Second was the pastrie and flower. It was apparent to him that the DI had been regularly skipping meals for some time and the best way to remedy that was to supply good premade food for him, the flower was a special touch for his apology, and while he may not ha understood the significance of a white tulip he had the internet to fall back on should he need to. The final item would come later in the day after that had a discussion about the changing nature of their relationship. Signs pointed to a positive response but slow progress. These were bot the idea conditions but they were workable.

He had finished purring on his suit, choosing to go for a midnight blue thay he only wore when he wanted to strike fear into some like Jonathan Edwards. His car was waiting outside for him and he would eat in his office before his first meeting of the day. If anyone had chosen to cross the iceman they were a fool, and if they did it today then they would be sent so far down even Dante would not be able to find them. He had the flames of injustice coursing through his veins and someone would pay today. More than likely a judge and two prosecutors who thought themselves clever at cheating the system.

The back of the car now carried a different meaning for him after the events that took place there the previous night. For years he had know so much about Gregory but it was the first time Gregory got a real glimpse at the man beneath the suits and power. It was an event that could alter not only a relationship but the entire course of someone's life. 

While he answered emails one appeared from Anthea notifying him that the final part would be ready for pick up at 11:15. Unlike the earlier items this one was going to be picked up, handled, and personally delivered by Mycroft to assure its quality and to allow him time to explain his actions. Sometimes in life there were moments that couldn't be delegated to others and this was one of them.

He would have time for two meetings and then he would need to travel across town to pick it up. Afterward he would head to New Scotland Yard and sky Lestrade to lunch. The mans tendency to take unnecessarily early breaks should have been amended with the introduction of one large apple fritter. It would be approximately 11:55 so long as traffic was no worse than usual. The DI would surely be hungry at that time if he didn't leave yet so he could go directly to his office and deliver the gift. Following that he would take vin to lunch, somewhere calm and simple to talk about possible dating and from that foeming a relationship.

It was paramount that Lestrade be relaxed so he was fully focused on the conversation and not on feeling iut if place. He knew Lestrade had likely been attracted to other men before but never acted upon it due to the possible social repercussions. So asking him to reevaluate his sexual identity may have been a bit much but they had been dancing around each other for years, he had even received an invitation to Lestrade's wedding, but didn't go because he couldn't bear the thought if it. He had harbored these emotions for so long and today he would finally go against gus nature and act on impulse. He knew it would be a slow process, just starting off with seeing each other more often and having more conversations that don't involve Sherlock and instead focus on each other.

His car had pulled up outside the obelisk of an office building and it was time to make heads roll.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Leave comments, criticisms, or grammatical errors in the comments. Thank you.


	5. Chai with Vanilla

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Discussions, Revelations, and Tea Drinking

It would be wrong to say his day was going bad, as it was going well or at the very least above average. However, life (and especially work) had a way of driving out the joy you were feeling earlier and dampening the feeling. The almost exuberance he had left when he ate the apple fritter had slowly been dulled down to contentment. That was certainly not a bad way to feel while at work but it stung to know how the simple pleasures of life could be sapped away so easily.

It wasn't even any one act or occurence that did it. There was no call from Sherlock or major tragedies to speak of. There had been a lack of reported crimes, but that was likely due to the number of people who had caught a cold and were staying home so any burglar worth their salt wasn't enough of a fool to try robbing someone today. His happiness was fading due to the long tedium of working. It made sense because there was nothing actively happening to make him happy but it would have been if maybe he got to enjoy some of that residual happiness for a but longer. It was the ultimate testiment that nothing in life was stronger than paperwork.

The tulip sad in its vase at the corner of his desk. Maybe he should have but it in the windowsill but he wanted to be able to see it and no matter what it wouldn't be getting much sunlight today. He had to look up what it meant, because he was in fact bit a florist whi had knowledge on such things, and he found that it meant forgiveness. The thoughts and gifts were nice but he was growing concerned that Mycroft was being overly negative of himself if he was going to such lengths to apologize. 

....

Mycroft had just finished his second meeting of the day and he was initiating the last two parts of his plan. He was heading to his tailor to pick up his final gift and Anthea was currently preparing the paperwork for a lawsuit. He needed to make himself perfectly clear about the importance of Lestrade's mental health and how that could be carried out separately from a relationship.

The car had just stopped outside the shop and Mycroft opened his umbrella and crossed the sidewalk to enter under the awning. Nathanial was doing something at his front desk and looked up upon Mycroft's entrance.

"Oh, hello Mr.Holmes. I take it you're here to pick up your latest order." He came around the counter and shook Mycroft's hand to welcome him. He was a spectacular tailor and always polite.

"Yes I am, and thank you again for being able to get it finished on such short notice." Normally it would take two to three days to complete a comission but this one had been done overnight and his efforts would not go unnoticed. 

"It's not trouble for you, sir. You really are my best client." Nathaniel had pulled back and started to walk into the second room he used for storing completed projects. "Did you want to see it or would you prefer I go ahead and wrap it for you."

He had no doubts that it was made precisely as specified so there was no reason to delay any longer than necessary. "If you could go ahead and wrap it up in a suit bag that would be wonderful."

"Right away sir just give me a moment." He said it with a slight nod of his head, before fully disappearing into the back room. It took less than three minutes and he was passing off a suit bag to Mycroft. "Did you want to pay using cash, card, or check?"

Mycroft saw the trembles moving through his body, the way his eyes looked hopeful and devastated simultaneously. It wasn't a stretch to realize that money was rather tight for Nathaniel, few people regularly needed a tailor to make them custom apparel items. It was partially why Mycroft had gotten into the habit of ordering new items or having his old ones regularly fixed for even the smallest issues, he didn't want to see such skill and craftmanship lead a man to poverty. It was one of those times when clients were sparse and it pulled at the sympathy many accused Mycroft of lacking.

"I'll be paying by check and tipping if that's fine with you, Nathaniel."

His eyes had widened at the answer. "Y-You can if you want to Mr.H-Holmes, but you dont have to." The regret in his voice at possible having to turn down any amount of money no matter how small was creating physical pain for Mycroft. 

"Well I would very much like to so if you could lend me a pen to fill out a check for you." 

Nathaniel produced a black pen form the inner pocket of his jacket and gave it over without a word. Mycroft quickly scribbled down the information and gave back the check and pen. There was an Audi ke gasp when Nathaniel saw the amount he was recovering but he quickly silenced his exitment and attempted diplomacy.

"Thank you Mr.Holmes this is very generous of you."

"It's a fair amount for the quality of your work and I expect I will need to have my suits altered at some point in these coming weeks. Now I must be going if I am to make my next appointment. Have a wonderful day Nathaniel." He was back at the door and pushed it open and deployed his umbrella.

"Have a good day too." He had just squeezed it out from his excitement as the door was closing behind Mycroft.

As he entered the car Mycroft hung the suit bag on the book in the backseat and checked his mobile. 11:30, things may be cut close but there was an 85% chance of getting to Lestrade before he went out on his lunch break. The car had started and was casually disregarding the speed limit and weaving through lanes to get him to New Scotland Yard faster.

....

11:50. On any other day Greg would have already left for his lunch break either by himself or with Sally accompanying him. Today though he felt like it was appropriate to wake just that little bit longer before leaving. He wasn't as hungry as he could have been, thanks to eating breakfast for the first time in a blue moon, but he still had his limits and would need to eat eventually. He had settled on 12:00 exactly. If nothing happened by then he would leave and get some soup or maybe a bagel for lunch.

At 11:55 there was a light rapping against his office door and whoever's it was chose to let themselves in without being invited. The figure in question was Mycroft Holmes who currently had something sling over his shoulder.

"Well this is different." He had abandoned the emails in favor of focusing on why the British Government was standing in his office once Tuesday.

"I do apologize for the impromptu arrival but I needed to make sure you were still here and hadn't gone out to lunch yet."

"Does this have anythin to do wit the car ride last night. You can stop the stressing it was fine. And you've already apologized thoroughly enough."

Mycroft look take aback by this. He was expecting to be the frank and honest one in this situation not the one receiving it. "Well it relates to that in a sense but it also involves more aspects that have lead uo to that."

"I'll take a guess and say I've got an extended lunch today too don't I." He was leaning back in his chair and contemplating how many ways this day could plummet downhill faster than Icarus.

"If you were to be gone for an extended period of time I would day that no one would bother to criticize you for it. But first i must give you one final thing and this does not involve our conversation from the car, this is about my concern for your wellbeing." He placed the suit bad on the desk and then stepped back.

As Greg stood and picked it up he responded, "You care about me? I will say I'm fully flattered, yet also concerned that this may cause a breakdown for Sherlock."

"My brother will survive." He was anxious to see how Lestrade responded to the gift and how it looked. 

The bag was unzipped and he pulled out a nice overcoat. Actually nice was a severe understatement, the thing was made of a fine thick material and the inside was laced with the softest fabric he had ever left in his life.

"You got me a coat?"

"Well you needed one and I know this last year has been rather difficult on you." Everyword was the truth but it lacked the full sentiment behind his actions.

"Thank you it's lovely." And it's worth more than me.

"You should try it on to make sure it fits properly." 

"Alright." You had to pick your battles with a Hklmes and this one wasnt worth the fight. He didn't even take his suit jacket off as he fed his hands through the sleeves and wrapped it around himself. It took him a moment to get it buttoned because it was made in the double breasted style. The long fabric reached down to his knees and wrapped around his body nicely. The sleeves were the perfect length to where they covered part of his palm with his arms straight and covered his wrists if they were bent. The entire item hugged his body without being restrictive or snug, and it was all done in a grey that matched his hair and buttons that were in a color made to match his eyes.

"It fits perfectly." He was astonished and minutely concerned.

"I had my tailor make it and had to estimate on your measurements, but it appears they were correct. The material will keep the water off you and protect you from the ever present nip that perpetuates the air." This felt liena success, seeing the man wrapped up and protected.

"This is so nice it must have cost a fortune, and...is this a hood on it?" Coats this posh didn't come with hoods on them, so why did his have one.

That coat alone was worth more than everything else in his office combined but he didn't plan on letting Lestrade know that. "Yes it is. I had it custom made for you with a hood on the back and it can come off by popping off the buttons that surround the inside of the collar. With this and your new umbrella you will not have to worry about hypothermia or a cold again."

"So it was you who sent me that this morning. I had assumed but I just wasn't sure of it. But...well..ya see the thing is I've already lost that umbrella." He started scratching the back of his head at the statement. 

He had actually managed to leave Mycroft Holmes dumbfounded with his ability to lose things. "How could that have happened it came into your possession not even ten hours ago?" 

"Well I had it when I came in and then I forgot it after I got my coffee and saw the pastry you left me, but by the time I noticed and went to look for it it was no longer there and I'm not going to interrogate the whole police force over an umbrella." 

This man was going to be the death of him and Mycroft knew he was going to let it happen to himself. "Well I don't think it would be possible for you to lose a coat this big, do you."

"No I think that I'll be able to keep track of this one.

"Are you amenable to join me for lunch so we can discuss a few things, or did you need to finished what you were currently doing before I arrived."

He says it like I can say no and he won't just drag me there anyway. Good thing I want to have lunch with him. "Yeah, I'm all set to go now. Another steak joint that I cant afford."

"I was thinking a bakery. Something cozy and less expensive." Somewhere we can talk personally and bot about the business of Sherlock.

"Alrgiht. Gimme a sec." He had started to unbutton his coat and Myxroft saw the wat he looked at his old windbreaker by the door.

"Why are you taking your coat off." 

Greg had just unbuttoned the last button and he stiled his hands. "Well I just...I...its nice and I wouldn't want to ruin it." He was staring intensely at the floor and hoping it coved the shame that had a blush rising to his cheeks.

"That's rather counterintuitive. The entire point of giving it to you was so you would have a better coat to wear in this horrid weather. It's not going to break if it gets wet, that's what it's made for."

"But once this one breaks I know I won't ever get to have something this nice again." Shit, he didn't mean to say that aloud. It was barely a whisper but that wasnt going to stop Mycroft from noticing. He wanted to try and play it off but there was no point in it. He didn't try to move or anything, only stood there and let the regret consume him.

"Why is that?" Mycroft was now two feet in front of him and Greg could only see his knees and below. "Why can't you have anything nice."

Concern was not the emotion ha had anticipated but it had been nothing but surprises from the older Holmes brother. At leas the had a shovel to start digging his way out. "B-Because I'm just a DI and we don't make that much."

Mycroft had finally moved to touch him. He placed his hands on those biceps and squeezed enough that Greg could feel it through the coat. "Actually you make a more than decent salary but I'm sure you ex wife knows that see as she is the one getting the majority of your paycheck."

He should have been pissed off. He should been angry or outraged at the invasion of privacy, but he wasn't. His body didn't fill with distrust at the invasive actions, he just deflated at the rending truth. Lestrade felt too heavy to stand and he let himself fall forward onto Mycroft who managed to catch him. His face was pressed against the jacket of his prefect suit and he crosses his arms over his upper back. "I dont know what to do. Most days I skip a meal or two so I can stretch my money farther." Mycroft had shifted his weight to properly support them bothcamd laced a hand into the back of the DI's hair to start stroking it and his other actors his back to keep him steady. "I can't go a day without feeling everything she took from me. My home, my friends, even my family can't hold a conversation with me without asking how I'm doing. The fuck am I supposed to tell them, I'm barely keeping a roof over my head and I can't sleep at night because I'm scared shitless that I've done something stupid that'll get me fired, and I'll be thrown in jail for not paying my alimony. I can't do that, so I just say I'm good and hope they hang up before they get suspicious. I dont think I'll survive this Mycorft. Its gunna take years to pay off her supposed emotional damages." Why was it the presence of Mycroft that left him so emotional? This never happened with anyone else he knew and why was the mythical Iceman comforting him through this. His words grew watery as tears fell from his eyes. "I'm sorry about you jacket." He hadn't felt this awful since the divorce was actually happening and now all that pain was fresh in his mind like if had happened only the day before. When he tried to pull back Mycroft held him in place and stroke his hair.

"Shhhhh, relax. This is exactly what I wanted to talk about. I want you to appeal to a court for a retrial." His words were soft and sweet to his ears.

"I couldn't do it. I can't pay an attorney and anyone given to me by the state would lose at he crocodile tears." The sorrow was now laced with bitterness and disdain for the bitch he once called his wife. "And there has to be something wrong with the previous trial for the court to even consider trying my case again. I'll..I'll just struggle un-until I lay it all off."

"You don't have to worry about that. I'm going to have Anthea represent you. She has a double major in law and political science, so she can handle the case." The defeatist attitude Lestrade had adopted didn't suit him and Mycroft never wanted to se ehin like that again. "And I do believe we have reason to believe a retrial is required. See your attorney, your attorney's boss, her attorney, and the judge all had personal connections to her. That hardly seems fair to me."

"That bitch." He hands were squeezing the fabric of Mycroft's jacket so tightly that it ripping was entirely possible, and he didn't care because Lestrade was more important than anything to him in that moment. "She fuckin set it all up to skrew me over." He was forcing each syllable out between his clenched teeth and he started to thrash around. The tears were flowing freely now and theh left heated tracks running down his face.

Through all of it Mycroft held him tightly and memorized every way that Lestrade was suffering because he was going to make sure he never had to feel anything like this ever again. 

"That's good, Gregory. Breath, breath, breath."

That soothing voice and sturdy body helped Greg to realize why he had always liked Mycroft, he cared. He cared about him before his divorce, even before his wedding had happened. Earlier he may have believed that Mycroft only cared because of his connection to Sherlock but he cared about him as an individual. It was so different from the people who constantly asked if he was okay but did nothing about it. Mycroft did something, even before this he had been there for him, his Sherlock discussions always happened to fall right when he needed some to comfort him and it was no accident that it happened that way.

His breathing evened out and he got his emotions under control. When he attempted to pull back this time Mycroft let him but he never stopped touching him. He knew his face was a mess but he left better now that he had finally learnt all out.

"Thanks Mycroft." He didn't want to say more and ruin this feeling of peace he was momentarily left with.

"I'm happy to aid you Gregory. Now we best get to lunch before you have to head home today." He finally let go of Lestrade amd stepped back.

"It took more than ten years for you to finally call me by my first name. I quite like the sound of it." There was a playful smirk dancing across his face.

"Better hurry on down before my driver calls in a team of professionals for fear that my security has been compromised."

"Okay." He used hisbleaves to wipe the remains of the tear tracks from his face and buttoned his coat. It felt different now, like a soft welcoming embrace against his body. His eyes were surely red but he was smiling at nothing in particular. 

No one vocally questioned who Mycroft was but they certainly let their gazes linger in curiosity, pondering his importance to Greg, and if that was romantic, platonic, or work related. Greg himself didn't even know anymore.

The entire trip to the bakery was encompassed by the air of calm that was left after the heart to heart they had. They didn't even speak again until they placed their order and found a table to wait at and sip their drinks while their food was made. Greg had a chai tea with vanilla and Mycroft chose ginseng with a but if milk and sugar to it. It was one of those mundane things you would always remember, how someone liked their tea.

"Thank you again." He resumed avoiding eye contact with Mycroft and instead looked outside at the few pedestrians on the sidewalk. Everytime he chanced anglancenat the other man he became flustered and attempted to hide behind his cup.

Mycroft was idly sturing his tea around as he ley Greg gates acclimated to the impending conversation. "Its honestly just what is right. What did was unfair and a blatant violation of the law. However there is one other thing I did want to discuss with you but if you feel that it would be best to wait before ha ving a serious talk I would understand." He wouldn't push anything on him, now when he bore witness to how much everything in his life was tormenting him.

Greg finally brought his eyes up to meet him. "No whatever it is we should do it now. If I let myself procrastinate on it I'll never lat it happen."

"I wanted to discuss the possibility of us starting a relationship or simply dating if you would define it like that." He openednhus mouth to speak again when their orders were announced from the counter. "I'll get that." He stoodnamd left Greg in his thoughts.

Lestrade honestly considered running out of the cafe now and avoiding humiliating himself. Mycroft of course would persue him eventually but the idea of giving a concrete answer was terrifying. He like the man and had even started to view his admiration towards him as romantic interest but the possibility of losing him was almost too great a cost to chance it, should a relationship fail. 

Mycroft had returned and placed a caesar salad in front of himself and a turkey sandwich in fron of Greg. "Thank you for not running. I need you to understand that however you feel about the possibility of attempting to forge a relationship with me it will not affect my decision to help you with a retrial on your divorce, or my contact with you as a friend."

The statement lifted a weight of despair from him. The entire idea of ending his alimony had left his mind at the mere mention of dating. He had always looked at and admired blokes since college but he had never dont a thing to act on it. If there was anyone who would get him act on it though, it would be Mycroft.

"I think I would like to try dating but I don't know where to start or what I could even offer you. You know i dont have a lot and a washed up detective isn't exactly the most desirable partner." He had to be honest with Mycroft and with himself.

"I don't see you that way. You have more determination and understanding than I thought possible. It took a year of your life going to shit for you to even contemplate possibly giving up and you choose to continue fighting. You don't view my family as freaks or monsters, just ad dysfunctional as an other family in existence. Your presence alone makes me feel like I can surely open up and you are not afraid to tell me when I've gone too far. Gregory Lestrade I treasure every moment I get to spend with you."

He was stunned. The last time he had heard anything like that about his character was his wife's wedding vows and looking back he could see how theh were full of lies and deceptions, but Mycroft sounded so genuine that it couldn't have been anything but the truth. "That's quite a declaration of love for someone you don't really know all that well."

"In life there I times you need to make you thoughts and intentions known so I needed to let you know how I feel whenever I think of you. And I do think we know each other quite well, we've been talking andnhiving lunches and drinks together for years."

"Those all focused on Sherlock, hardly a good way to start a relationship." Greg picked up the first corner of his sandwich and took a delicious bite that quelled his hunger. 

"Many individuals meet through family members and close friends. I will say that usually they are introduced rather than meeting up to make sure they are safe but on principle it is not flawed." He let Lestrade process as he took several hits from his salad before finally continuing, "And while many of our conversations started with Sherlock they mostly progessed to more personal matters, which is why I know you played rugby in college, you only like original pringles, and you prefer sogs but would only ever have a cat because you dont have the time to properly take care of a dog."

"But I know so little about you." He had stuffed the second triangle into his mouth the instant he finished.

"And I have yet to learn everything about you but there is more to a relationship than knowing someone's past, you also aid each other in the present and plan cod the future."

That sounded nice, having some who really cared about him would be amazing. And he could even start to live his life in terms of more than just week to week, he could plan a future and with vacations, parties, and celebrations that he never did previously. All hisilder relationship had been too distant or isolated for them to do things like that and they were what he wanted from life. 

"Mycroft I think I would like to try dating but could we please take it slow. Dating a bloke will be a new experience and I'm not the best at dating to begin with."

"Of course Gregory I'm happy to go at any pace that makes you comfortable, so this has not been a bad first date, would you say?"

"I think our first date was when you had Anthea kidnap me in a car and then you interrogated me in a warehouse." 

"Well it certainly worked since I still have you here in my life. Now we should hurry and finish eating soon. The police can spend all day relaxing."

"Oi, I hear yah." 

The meal continued with mindless chatter and it put them both at ease.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comments make the world for round, so please leave some. Constructive criticism is always appreciated.


	6. Alone Again

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Thinking about the ones you love can be almost as nice as having them near you.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> To anyone who read the end notes for chapter 3 where a talk about Euras being dead I need to tell you something very important.
> 
> The bitch is still fucking dead. There ain't no twist, and she ain't coming back to life.
> 
> Thank you and enjoy.

The rest of the day was simple and sometimes that's what's needed. A day to refresh yourself and avoid excessive strain. Sally stopped by to ask who he want to lunch with, to which he responded "a friend". There was no need to tell her about Mycroft and the possibility of a relationship if it ended to fall flat and failing in the beginning. 

He wouldn't say he enjoyed the walk to the station. Walking in torrential rain was a difficult thing to enjoy but it was so much better with a good coat on. At one point when he caught his reflection he couldn't help but think he looked taller. Maybe sherlock had a point about having a short friend and a good coat to make him appear taller. 

The ride on the tube was nothing special, the usual lot of tired people desperate to get home and do absolutely nothing. He would have liked to be one of them and just sleep once his head hit the pillow but he had to think about Mycroft's offer to use his wife. Really there was no logical reason to decline, Mycroft had all the evidence in the world he would need, everything from Greg's bank statements, and work hours during his marriage to the transcripts and family connections required to connect Mary to their lawyers and the judge from the trial. The only thing stopping him was a deep despair that was festering in the pit of his stomache. It had been there ever since their honeymoon when she started do dismiss all of his ideas as idiotic. She left him feeling week and in the aftermath he never noticed the way the trial had been stacked against him.

He had managed to walk to his flat and shut the door behind him will in his daze. He pulled out his mobile and finally called Mycroft to tell him his answer. Mycroft picked up in the third ring.

"Hello, Gregory." He could hear the ambient noise of a car in the back ground and figured Mycroft was in his car like always.

"I want to go through with a retrial." There were too many emotions going through him to understand how he was feeling.

"Alright now just tell me when you would like to file for it and I'll bring the forms over for you to sign." Prime was evident in his tone but not pride for himself it was pride for Greg at having decided to take back his life.

"As soon as we can. I want to get this done with and never think about it again."

"Okay, I will being you the forms to sign tomorrow and find a possible court date." His pride was fading into concern. "I understand the desire to finish this but I am worried that this may not be the best decision for you mental health."

The truth hurt. Greg would need to be present for the trial and that would involve not only testifying about his side of things, but also having to listen to Mary accuse him of being scum of the earth and borderline abusive. The way she had done it last time had left him believing most of it and questioning himself, but this time would be different.

"Will you be there Mycroft?"

"Yes Anthea and I shall be there to help you, and I suspect John will be in attendance, he could possibly convince Sherlock to come as well if he felt like it."

"Please dont leave me during the trial. I won't last if I'm alone." Somewhere along the way he had fallen to the floor with his back pressed against his front door. 

"I'll be in the chair beside you though out the trial regardless of how long it takes."

"Thank you. Thank you again for everything. Sorry that I just called without a warning, I know that I'm only supposed to call when their's something with Sherlock." Of the few things Mycroft had explicitly told him when they'd come to their agreement on watching Sherlock to make sure he didn't die, one of them was not to call unless explicitly necessary. "It won't happen again, or well it won't happen again just to waste your time. Sorry about that."

"None of that Gregory. If we're planing to start dating, I've been led to believe that regular contact is important. Calling and texting would be much more efficient than having to get a car for you, not that I don't love being in your presence."

Texting, that was causal and slow, exactly as he requested. "I gotcha." He didn't want to say too much and give his voice the opportunity to shake and crack over the phone.

"I trust you have food for dinner tonight." Mycroft shifted the conversation to an easier topic, but one that he still worried about. Lestrade was failing to feed himself properly and that wouldn't do. He needed to be certain there was food in the cupboard.

"Yeah I was going to make some instant noodles. Nothin too special and it's pretty easy."

"Well enjoy your feast and remember to call should you need anything. I would like to continue chatting but I must attend to another meeting."

"That's got to be the fifth one today."

"Yes and I while I would prefer to skip this meeting specifically, this individual has very little patience and even less taste. Maybe next time I'll be able to share some of those instant noodles." There was a pause at their amusement and then he continued. "Goodbyd now Gregory and, I'm being honest, do call me if I'm needed."

"Goodbye and goodnight Mycroft." He was the one to hang up the phone, not willing to hear the silence of the other line ending on him.

He absorbed the silence and made finally stood up from his place against the door. Only now did he finally pull down his food and unbutton the coat to set it on a hook by the door to dry. 

Dinner was easy, but that is the point of having instant food, convenience. Just some water and then three minutes later he had his steaming noodles with their usual aroma of processed grain and factory work. This one little cup was a summation of capitalism. Thoughts like this only arose when bored beyond comprehension or after an emotional experience for calm down. Somehow he was fulfilling both categories at once.

He ate standing by the sink and just chucked the container and plastic fork in the bin when he finished. The bland taste was a reminder of his inability to cook like he used to. It may have only been casseroles that he ate lover the course of a week but there was pride in successfully cooking a meal with your own hands. That had was challenged with Mary's criticisms of his cooking and it died entirely upon the move to his current flat. It isn't really an option to try and cook a casserole in the microwave. Maybe one day he could make Mycroft something at his house. If a mouse that massive lacked a kitchen then every architect and interior designer to ever live would be rolling in their graves.

That's how he focused himself, thinking about all the possibilities that lay ahead in the future. Cook, dating, if he wanted to be honest with himself even venting was something to look forward too. Having someone to talk to about your woes who knew your life and was there for you. He knew he couldn't just dump all his problems onto another person, but having someone at home for you on bad days was such a pleasant thought.

"Off to bed I guess." He could have stayed awake and amused himself with something on his phone but it had been a draining day and sleep would help him deal with tomorrow.

He scrubbed his teeth rather furiously (seeing dozens of mugshots with gum disease will do that to you) and stripped down to his briefs before flipping onto his bed. There was a chill in the air that might make him uncomfortable later in the night, but as it was he would be fine. He tended to sleep better when it was cold and he was wrapped up in his blankets.

Trying to calm your mind when you laid down was always a challenge with him but tonight was worse than others. Right when he could feel himself start to drift off his mind was invades by a desire to be held close. Images of lanky limbs, pale skin, and those calm eyes flashed through his consciousness when he tried to ignore it. He had been so long without something more intimate than a passing causal touch and now that his subconscious had latched onto someone it was all that occupied his thoughts with nothing to distract him. Even he arms were longing to hold a body they'd only briefly felt earlier that day. The aching need to feel contact was consuming him and he stated curling in on himself.

His body and mind wanted Mycroft and the need was maddening. The man asked him to call if he was needed but loneliness had to qualify as something unimportant and excessive. Besides he had been going to a meeting and it was probably still going, so interrupting how would be a faux pass as well as an annoyance. But his heart didn't see it that way, all it knew is that he was hurting and he always hurt less with Mycroft around 

There must be some way to satiate his body's needs without being a nuisance. He hadn't earned the right to make midnight calls asking for help and compassion. Being so needy and desperate this early on would surely drive the man away form him and leave him feeling even worse in the end. He had to wait it out and hope that the exhaust from today would hit him and take him under until his alarm went off tomorrow. 

His Hope's were dashed. The alarm clock indicated ten minutes had passed and it wasnt any easier on him. There was so much temptation to pick up his phone and text the posh man just to have the reminder that someone cared, but then he remembered they hadn't even been dating for a full day. Hell, they hadn't even gone on a real date before and he had no right to be so clingy already. 

He was tossing and turning to try and get comfortable so he could sleep. Even turning to place his head at the foot of the twin bed did nothing. While lying there in defeat his eyes had drifted over towards the door. The coat was being illuminated by streams of like coming in between the the curtains of his small front window. He got up and stood by the coat. 

"Am I rally about to do this." Was he really going to put on a fancy coat as if it were some dollar store dressing gown and then sleep in it. He picked up the sleeve and found that the fabric had completely dried off. The soft texture of it filed him with a duller feeling of the safelty he felt when Mycroft was holding him in his office. It wasn't nearly as strong as it has been then, but the feeling was exactly what he needed in the moment.

"Fuck it all." There was no point in trying to stop himself, he was either going to pit it on or call Mycroft and one was much easier to do than the other.

The weight of it helped to bleed the tension form his shoulders and the silky material of the inside was like heaven against this bare skin. His arms felt swaddled inside the sleeves, and he kept coving slightly to feel it brush over the expanse of his back and sides. It was obscene the way his briefs were riding up and he didn't want to move them because of how the material was ghosting over the line of his thighs and ocassionally getting between his legs. The length was perfect to have the edges rub right against the bend of his knees. This had been a good idea after all.

He didn't button it and instead looked down at himself. He had to laugh at how strange it all way. He must have loved like an aged rent boy with his neon purple briefs and an extremely expensive coat on top of them. Neither product had been made to be work together and somehow he was so glad to be wearing only them.

Before getting back into his bed he pulled up the hood of the jacket, this way he could act like it was just some old college sweatshirt he was wear to sleep and not a magnificent gift.

The position he finally settled on had his body laying on his side facing away from his alarm clock and curling alighlt inward. His pillow had. even pulled down to hold in his arms, but still rest bus head on it. Finally his feet were tangled into the blankets that had been pushed out of the way, aside from that they weren't doing anything.

He slowed his breathing and noticed the gently rub of fabric against his skin with each controlled breath. Now when his mind drifted to Mycroft it wasnt demanding him but instead believed that this was him, or at least a good substitute. Greg though of how it would feel to actually cuddle up with the man. Mary had always been opposed to cuddling up in bed, but he hoped that Mycroft would give it a chance. That was the image that filled his dreams until the dawn, two bodies wrapped around one another into the wee week of the morning with easy breaths between them.

....

Gregory sounded happy but there was this insistent feeling of unslopen ways in which he could have been better. He could have a better place, more money, or food that was more substantial than some ready made crap that was taking years off his life. All these little joys3 had been stolen by Mary. Whenever he believed to have reached a limit on his disdain for the woman it only grew more at each revelation. She had tricked the best man in the country and then threw him away like old trash, damaging him in the process.

Divorce was always a damaging process. It forced you to reevaluate you life and tested relationships. Finances were rearranged and possessions switched owners. Adding the amount of slander and ridicule that had been recorded in the record for trial and it was clear why Lestrade doubted everything. He had out his heart and soul out on display for the taking and it had been crushed before getting thrown in his face.

"Soon." He continued to remind himself of that one word. Soon. Soon his car would arrive and he could begin discussions with Anthea. Soon they would be in a court room. Soon every hanous deed would be brought to light and the woman would be too ashamed to walk out of he front door. Soon the bitch would pay for her transgressions.

....

His car pulled up outside his home and he bid the driver farewell before stepping out and ascending the stairs to the door. After verifying his identity he entered and make his way to the siding room where anthea had the papers laid out and had prepared tea for the two of them. 

"How was your meeting sir?" She asked in such a tone that it was difficult to distinguish if she was being genuine with her curiosity.

"If that man were to keel over and die tonight I would celebrate the occasion every year become a good christian just to avoid seeing him in hell." Some imbeciles were the most destructive people with even knowing it. Anthony Randolph could upset a nation by just asking for a fucking drink. Mycroft would have loved to skip strait to his meeting with Anthea where they could discuss their attack strategy in court but he had to hunker the man with his presence and forced smiles.

"Well there are no meeting scheduled wjth him for the next eight months."

Mycroft had taken a seat at the table and anthea placed a cut of tea and a plate of toast in front of him.

"Dont argue. You are fully capable of eating and talking simultaneously." She was one of the few people who could say such a thing to him, as she wasnt just a secretary but also the one who maintained his well being.

"I shall, but tell me you have obtained all the forms I requested." He picked up the first piece of toast covered in jam and but into the corner.

Anthea grabbed a list off of the table and began to recite its contents. "Bank statements and records from both parties for the duration of their marriage, all credit card purchases, criminal record of any kind, transcripts from the previous trial, high school transcripts and class listings, family trees, staff for both law firms involved in the original trial, hourly work records up until them, and finally marriage vows. That is every item you requested and all of them are currently at your sticky finger tips." She gestured to the forms at the table and gave a look of annoyance at Mycroct doubting her. 

Mycroft had finished his first slice of toast and whipped his hands on a napkin so he could reach kit and touch the documents. "I apologize for doubting your abilities Anthea but I refuse to live that vile woman a single out in this trial."

"Understandable sir. I've reviewed the court record from it and I cant stand the woman myself." 

He had shifted to taking light sips of his tea between breaths. "Now shall we review all possible eventualities?"

"We can though I must ask when do you plan the retrial will be? I understand the desire to help Detecrive Lestrade but if it is weeks out I fail to see the need for such planning so far in advance."

Mycroft had set the glass down and spoke in the way he usually reserved for politicians he detested and was aloud to openly hate. "The trial will most likely be next Thursday. I want to suffer through a fair trial unlike the one she forced Gregory to suffer through, so while I may not use my influence to get her immediately convicted I'm more than willing to use it to set the trial before she can establish an entourage to fill the court room."

"I see. You don't want dozens of crying women flooding the benches and claiming she did nothing wrong." It was the type of deviousness she could support.

"Precisely. She won't have all those people protecting her this time. I need her to feel desperate and alone so she can know the pain Gregory had been through in the past few months." Mycorft had finally finished the tea and all anger left his body as he gently placed it back onto the saucer. "I assume she will have a few friends there but most will claim that it is too short notice to take off. Now let's review the claims she is most likely to make."

"Cheating and hiring a prostitute." She had memorized his list of ways Mary might try to slander Lestrade.

"Yes qhen she discussed emotional damages she mentioned neglect which we can easily counter with her worl hours and purchase history. It's rather hard to be neglected if your working less than you spouse but still leaving everyday to out and drink." His voice was like venom at the word spouse. She didn't deserve a theme like that with such a wonderful man. "Once that has been destroyed she will claim she caught him in the act of cheating."

"Which will be countered by his long work hours and lack of any large purchases."

"Then I expect her to say it was a prostitute he hired and brought into their home." He was smiling with joy at just the thought of ruining her reputation.

"Thay would have been impossible since he never made a large ATM withdrawal and the only times he did he took out a twenty pound note and those were spaced apart by weeks." Anthea was going in the euphoria or it but was less subtle about her excitement 

"Correct and should she still try to say it must have been a one night stand or something of the sort it will be her word against Gregory's."

"And his is much more believable since she had a history of underage drinking, gambling, disturbing the peace, and several parking violations." 

The ongoing discussion made Mycroft realize how truly crooked the trial was. No other court could have found Gregory guilty of anything in comparison to her and the endless pile of broken laws she had behind her.

"Now in the event she claims to have been forced to pay for the majority of the Bill's and utilities we will again go to the bank statements and work hours."

"Lestrade worked significantly more than she did each week and all Bill's after the first two months were paid in full by Lestrade while her finances went primarily to liquor, local restraunts, and clothing/jewelry. And if she claims that a woman like her needs nice things I should tell her that she should reevaluate her priorities and what is considered necessary." It was too fun doing something devious that was still within the limitations of the law.

"Not in such obvious terms but the idea or correct." He had finished his second slice of toast and brought up the third pint of discussion. "Now to tie the lawyers into it all."

Anthea pulled out a chart for reference. "Lestrade used Quill & Co. Law office. Mr.Quill is a family friend to Mary's father Liam Evans. The lawyer assigned to Lestrade by the firm was a Mr. Newborn who attended college with Mrs. Mary Evans."

"And how many lawyers did the firm employ at the time of the trial." Leave no stone unturned.

"Eight were listed on the payroll but counting Mr. Quill himself. Every odd how the two people in the office with connections to Mrs. Evans were both involved in her case."

"So strange you may even say it was intentional." Fuck subtlety now was the time to be blunt and rude. 

"And her lawyer was the boyfriend of a work colleague. Mr. Willson." The blatant abuse of the judicial system had shifted from comedic to blasphemous. "She will regret choosing to manipulate the court of law in such a way."

"Anthea, a cherish the idea of her dumbfounded face after she loses but we cannot get cocky. After all that is one of the things that make as easy as it is." The others being her own laziness, and stupidity when it came to wringing the worst man possible.

"Did you wish to continue or would you like me to depart so you may answer emails before you head off to bed?" She was back to being her concerned if distant self.

"I believe that is enough but make sure thaycLestrade receives the forms that he needs to sign tomorrow. The sooner that done the soon I can arrange for the hearing." 

"Will do Mr. Holmes. Have a good night." She had made her way too the door.

"You as well Anthea. See you tomorrow." 

The sounded of the closing door left him to his thoughts. The silence was a bit deafening but he had the memories of Gregory and a hope for the future to keep him company for now. He took the cut and plate he had used and placed them in his sink to washed later (he didn't have any house staff, too much of a security risk). As he went about the mundane tasks the night went for a strategy meeting to just another night at home, but the warm feeling of Gregory followed him into his slumber.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please leave comments if you have criticism or just like the story.


	7. Few and Far Between

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You can't be together everyday.

*BEEP*  
*BEEP*

Greg there his arm over to silence the machine. He felt different that morning, happy and well rested. Then he looked down and figured out why. "Oh yeah, my new coat." He really did end up sleeping in it like a dressing gown and it was one of the best night sleeps he'd had in a while. 

He wanted to just lay there, splayed across his bed and let himself absorb the comfort of the situation. Stretching out in bed after snuggling up to a coat had to be the saddest story in the world and he didn't care. No amount of ridicule could dispel the joy he had from last night, odd as the situation may have been.

But he wasn't able to just lay in his bed all day. He sat up and rested his feet on the floor. It was probably a good idea to hang his coat up on a hanger or a hook, but it couldn't get any worse than it was from last night, so he just lowered the hood, pulled out his arms, and dropped it onto the bed. The wrinkles wouldn't come out in jsut the span of a few minutes anyway, so he left it there as he went about getting ready.

He hopped into his never quite warm enough shower and started scrubbing himself clean. Lathering his body in an all-in-one product saved him time from having to switch between bottles for his skin and hair. It didn't leave him feeling as clean and refreshed as he may have liked, but it was good enough. Though, maybe he needed to stop settling for simply good enough. He had been feuding alone in the barest for of possible contentment for months by this point and it was about time he asked for more in lolife. However he couldn't instintankidly make some additional products so he was left with the single bottle he had on hand Clean was still clean even if you lacked fancy oils and nice fragrances. He may have lingered a bit longer to rub thoroughly across his skin but it was all in the name of cleaning himself properly.

One thing he was fully being lazy about was shaving. He used an old raisor that certainly trimmed his facial hair but even fresh after shaving he had a five o'clock shadow. That wasn't bad per se but it was not his intention having shaved only moments ago. The razor ended up in the bin and he decided it was good enough to go and finished getting ready.

Greg didn't even look inside the cabinet for food. He knew that the only thing inside was more instant noodles and he tried to avoid eating them as back to back meals. He didn't prioritize his health as much as he should, but that much salt was too much to not raise an eyebrow. He survived other days without breakfast and he could make it through today as well.

His coat was on and he was out the door without any fuss. The tube was emptier than it was most days, that meant it was still packed but less cramped.

No one in the gaggle stood out from anyone else. No one spoke or even mood all that much. The sliding if the car along the tracks drowned out any noise so Greg couldn't even tell if his fellow passengers were breathing. It was these small moments that got to him the most. Regardless of how much he tried to work his way up to move someplace nicer, where he couldn't feel like he wa solving on his own terms, he would still have to return back to these same tunnels to get home. 

A vehicle was a beast of it's own distinct nature. Endless Bill's for maintenance, gas, and insurance. That had something to do with why he saw a car an relting mode to freedom than a home. A home is a single thing, westhe rit is owned or rented the costs are typically consistent, but a car, a car was unpredictable. Accident, breaking down, overdue payments, other bumming it off of you, there we plenty of reasons why he didn't need one, yet he still wanted one. Maybe if he got one he could finally feel like he moved on with his life?

Leaving the break room with his coffee there was a palpable feeling of congestion and exhaust in the air. So many of the officers on shift currently either had run out of sick days amd were working through the tail end of their cold or they were just starting to show symptoms and were pushing their luck until they had to stay home. It was sad, and he would say pathetic but that sounded too harsh to him.

His office was unlocked which didn't raise his suspicions as much as it should have with how the last few days involved a posh bloke invading his privacy. But he wasn't greeted by Mycroft instead he saw Anthea sitting in the spare chair in his off answer messages on her phone. She quickly pocketed it and stood to greet him.

"Good morning Inspector Lestrade I have some forms for you to sign." 

Greg closed the tood behind him, took of his coat, and took the manilla envelope from her out stretched hand. Inside here two papers and he sat down at his desk to read over them (he'd been skrewed over once so he wasn't privy to allow it to happen again). One was the form officially filing for his divorce and the other was titled RELATIONSHIP REGISTEATION FORM.

"What's this other one?' He turned the relationship form so she could see the cover of it.

"That is a form requiring your consent to do a background check so that you may begin a relationship with Mr.Holmes. I apologize for the inconvenience, red tape is quite excessive." She was genuinely worried that Lestrade might rethink signing the paper and the effect it would have on both him and Mycroft.

"Soci just sign this form and they do the rest themselves."

"Yes, afterwards they will contact Mr.Holmes should they deem you too dangerous to partake in a relationship with him. I doubt that will happen given your status as an officer of the law and clean criminal record."

"Yeah you already subpoenaed all that when you got forms for the trial didn't you?" Anthea gave a slight nod of her head in response. "I'll be honest, really dont care there's nothing incriminating about me, plenty of pathetic and sad things but nothing illegal. At least they had the decency to do it all themselves instead of forcing me to supply all the shit they need." He scribbled in his signature and the date on both forms and returned them to her.

"Thank you detective, and I was also told to give you this." She pointed to a white box at the corner of his left that he'd missed entirely up until she acknowledged it.

He reached over and opened it to find a chocolate chip scone. "Was he feeling extra generous today, or something?"

"No its simply one of Mr.Holmes's favorite foods and he hoped you would like one as well. He also may have indicated that he had no faith in you to properly feed yourself in the morning."

So Mycroft was a chocolate man. He remembered how his eyes would always drift to dessert menus and window displays filled with sweets any time they went our but he always stuck to salads and soups, never indulging in the sugary confections. He had the immediate urge to bake cakes, brownies, cookies, muffins, and all other items he could stuff with chocolate for Mycroft to sample, he hoped if he ever did get the chance to do so the man would be pleased with the end result. Would he be satisfied withcsinple options, or should he try something more cultured like tiramisu? So many poasibilites and only one chance to make a first impression with his cooking skills.

"Well he was right. Dont tell him that or he'll hold it above my head and never let my live it down." He wanted to enjoy the scone immediately but it would be crumbly and he didn't want to make a mess in front of someone. Making a mess of himself in private was perfectly fine though.

"I won't tell." Now I must be off so we can get these processed." She walked out the door and her heels could be heard against the tiled floor all the way down to the elevator.

Whenever someone of that social status left it was like a void of class was left in their wake. It may have just been the way someone of such importance always tended to be more imposing and fill the space around them so it felt empty once they were gone, but ultimately their absence was felt. Well it would have been felt had Sally not chosen that moment to launch her own investigation into his private life.

"Alright boss I need some answers. Who was that woman, what is she to you, and why do I feel like I know her." Thankfully she had the tact to close his door so the whole floor wouldn't be privy to his personal affairs.

He could have lied and made it convincing, but really Sally was one of the few people he wholeheartedly trusted and he didn't want to betray that. Besides she was so nosy that she was bound to find out eventually, might as well save them the effort and just tell her the truth outright. "Her name is Anthea. I have no idea what her last name is because I've never been told what it is. She is the assistant to Mycroft Holmes, who you may remember is Sherlock's older brother." She was appalled but he wasn't going to let her ask any follow up questions until he had finished with these. "She was here because I'm planning on dating him. Yes, that means I fancy men as well as women. No, I've never been with a man before, and no this isn't why I got divorced." There that was recently thorough and should limit any follow ups.

She was still sporting that dazed expression of disbelief, but she had regained enough composure to voice her thoughts. "Of all the people in London you had to choose the only one related to Sherlock."

"Yes." The answer was short and clipped. She obviously wasn't doen with her questions but he needed to be clear that he wasn't going to take any ahitbfor this.

"So on Monday did you leave the crime scene to go have a lunch date with him or something." Her hands were kn her hips and she was leaning back against the door, getting herself comfortable for a nice long answer.

"No, we had to discuss Sherlock and his health. Though I will say that it did lead to my consideration of dating Mycroft."

"Why do you say it like its snow formal thing? According to you you haven't even been dating for two days."

"Because for bin that's exactly what it is. Hes a government official and everything he chooses to do be it in his work life or his private life is vested and reviewed by the government to maintain his safety."

"You've got to be joking." She said it but she her tone sounded convinced already.

"I'm just relaving the information that I've been told. If I was lied to then I guess it was all some big joke but to me it all came off as the honest truth." He finally pulled the scone out of the box as a passive aggressive symbol for Sally to leave him in peace for now. "Now I'm going to eat my breakfast and get back to work. If you have any other questions you can ask them while on a break or when during to a crime scene."

"Yeah boss, I gotcha." She turned and left him alone again.

"Now to indulge a bit." The scone was too nice and he was going to savor every single crumb.

....

The rest of the day was boring and unremarkable, however when he got home that night he finally did the mountain of laundry he had been neglecting. Not only had he washed it all but also folded it all and gotten it put away. It would have felt like a victory if it wasnt the most mundane of chores that had to be done weekly. Still he was being productive and that counter towards something. 

Thursday was very similar to Wednesday but there was no Anthea and no Mcroft, there was though a Sally Donovan asking questions about everything while they had lunch.

"So you just decided to date someone who may or may not be the most powerful man in England?" She was taking slow sips of her coffee, normally she would have gone for tea but with the perpetual rain she needed the caffeine from the shot of espresso she had them put in it.

"Less decided and more of just realizing, shit I think I'm in love." He was being dramatic but even with the invasive questions the conversation didn't feel serious or tense.

"Okay but even if you've technically know him for years what do you once about him?"

"Not a lot but instead that the point of dating. The man once spent a week sleeping in my office so I still know a but about him."

"Tell me seven things you know about him." She was suspicious as she was of all things.

"1) He likes chocolate scones for breakfast. 2) He would like to eat desserts but ever does and sticks mostly to salads. 3) He has a deep hatred for the color orange and finds it to be in his words unreasonably gaudy. 4) He prefers hair gel as opposed to creme or spray. 5) If given the choices he'd prefer scotch over wine but that looks bad at political meetings. 6) He has traveled to several countries and all he remembers about then was the stanch of the food the street vendors were selling. 7) He loves history but absolutely despises anytime a documentary or movie is historically inaccurate, so he has a deep hatred for the Braveheart."

"You gathered all that from talking about Sherlock?"

"Well we do more than just talk about Sherlock. That would drive anyone inside, we would often go off on little tangents where we discussed media or what we thought of john and the like. Thinking about it the inky reason it wasnt a date is because there was no intent to make it a romantic or personal, it just sort of ended that way. Calm soothing talks, venting about those who annoyed us, the stupidity of what some people might do to be famous. Many times he would tell me about how pathetic it was when a celebrity was publicly drunk and tried to deny it since there would be CCTV footage of them the entire time." Those had always been annoying because of the large time sink but the company was delightful and especially when theh went to the Diogenes he was happy to sip his drink and stare ag the fire as it eased the tension from his mind. He really had been falling in love for years and just never noticed until they had collapsed and needed each other.

"You really are in love." When he looked puzzled she continued. "Thag look you had is something I've only seen when interrogating someone about the person they love. You never had that look on your face whenever we talked about Mary or anyone that came before her, but bow you've got this loveydovey grin on your face. It goes all the way up to your eyes and you cant fake it. Its adorable."

The more she contined the mkre he could feel the blush creep up his neck, by the time she was finished he was sure his face was beat red and it reached all the way up to the tips of his ears. It may have been appropriate to be annoyed with her but all she really did was prove that she was a good detective, certainly one who didn't know the limits of privacy but you need someone like that in your life whose willing to step in and look out for you.

"Does that mean you will let me try and date him and stop questioning my judgment." He knew she meant well but after his last relationship he knew to be careful and thorough before making any big decisions.

"Yeah boss I'll leave you be for now, I'll probably never stop worry about you but I'll step back for now. Also do you have a date planned for the future?"

"As far as I know he's still processing the paper I signed so no we dont have any dates planned yet but he's still a Holmes so he might just pull up outside my apartment and wisk me off to some fancy restaurant in the west end." They shared a chuckle and Sally finally looked at her phone.

"Shit we're late." They were out the door and back to the station in record time. Thankfully everyone was too busy to give them crap for it and they slipped back inside without any fuss.

He was about to ask someone to insite some crime so there was something to do. At first he loved not running around town like a chicken with his head cut off, but if he was stuck in his office all day he had no excuse to be slacking on his paperwork. He didn't need anything major just some fool who tried shoplifting, so he could perform an arrest and do an interrogation. Of course their public image was great if crime was down but it wasn't their doing that had suppressed illegal activities. The flu and the cold were responsible for that, and the only reason the police weren't as sick as they could be were because of the mandatory flu shots they had every year. A bunch of people were still out for other reasons but the effect had been downsized.

Sally barging into his office had ignited some excitement inside of him until she said that the printer was out of toner and she wanted to use his. He said yes (like any decent person would have), but the two minute conversation was only a short reprieve from his work. Thankfully he managed to finish all the printed forms and could shift to responding to emails and organizing his calendar with new meetings. This did make him notice the seconds ticking by on the clock in the corner of his screen. Moment after moment, day after day, week after week he always came back to those little numbers that taunted him with the concept of leaving work.

The thought of leaving work was always something that lightened his mood, but that feeling only lasted if you liked what was waiting at home for you. He only had some nearly empty cupboards and an extra long twin bed waiting for him. Greg loved food and sleep as much as anyone else but when life had become so stagnant there was no motivation to keep it up.

His motivation currently was Mycroft. Smart remarks, and clever ideas, wrapped up in slicked hairs and posh suits kept him going now. It had only been a few days of regular contact and the suggestion of a relationship but that was all the promting it took for him to cherish every second and reflect on their last. Even thinking back he had previously anticipated their meetings. Delicious meals and soothing words, a lack of judgment or superficial expectations, and the knowledge that there would always be another meeting like it.

When he tried to get back to the stockpile of emails he finally caved and looked at his phone to fine a single message unread. It was from Mycroft.

"Would you be available for a date tomorrow night?"

It was so cordial and it melted his heart. Mycroft didn't ask for a date or invite him, he had asked if it would work with Greg's schedule. Mycroft had to haveeknown that Greg's weekend plans were completely nonexistent, but he had chosen to ask in a way that didn't force him into a decision. The man was so polite that the queen must look to him as an example.

Then he saw the time the message was delivered, 2:45. Currently it was just after 5:50 so he had left Mycroct waiting for hours. His neglect left him feeling like the scum of the Earth, unworthy of such care and compassionate actions.

He responded a quick "I'm good for anytime tomorrow after 5:30." Even bothering with proper punctuation to meet the standard that had been set. And he could leave work early if he did all the necessary work by then. 

His thoughts however, were a mess. "Would Mycroft say no since I took too long to answer him. Will he begrudgingly accept because it would be polite. Shoudl I apologize for taking so long to answer or would all the reperivie messages aggravate him. Maybe if I tell him he doesn't need to go to such extreme efforts like fancy dates and meals, but then again that's not much different than how they spend their previous encounters. How do I even approach dating. I haven't gotten on the horse in so long and I'm sure to be shit at it when it comes to dating another man. Accepting his attraction to men didn't mean he would good at it."

The chime of the clocks around the station hitting six PM were his que to leave and go home. He could let his thoughts wander and his nerves frazzle themselves in the privacy of him flat. So much easier to freak out when no one was there to witness it.

....

Radio silence. That was the decision he had made regarding texting Mycroft again while riding on the tube. Even if Mycroft had directly said it was fine to message him that didn't give Greg free reign to badger him with pointless dribble, so he would just wait for Mycroft to respond and go from there.

The walk back to his flat was the worst one he'd delt with in recent memory. The rain had chosen to alternate between barely there sprinkles to strong gusts of wind that would push him back and rain coming down at an angle that managed to still soak his face even with his hood pulled up. Even with the water occasionally acting as a metaphorical and physical slap in the face he felt a serenity dominating from his core. And it grew stronger as he ascended the steps and made it inside without the rain on his back.

All the fear of how Mycroft might react had left his mind as he was wrapped securely in his coat. It made on sense at all. Thoughts of Mycroft's rejection could destroy him but the feeling of his gift was a sweet comfort he cherished, it could only be described as illogical. He could probably sit and think about it for a while and come to a conclusion but that would likely ruin the good feels he was getting, leaving just the negative ones. As they say ignorance is bliss amd compared to Mycroft everyone was ignorant. 

He had stopped down to some boxer briefs and an old tee shirt that was so faded the words were illegible, it wouldn't insulate him from the chill of the autumn winds that snuck through the cracks but he would be under the covers in due time anyhow. Tonight's feast of instant noodles had just been placed in the microwave when his phone vibrated on the counter next to him.

It was a message from Mycroft. Rather than standing there contemplating in agony he unlocked his mobile and rand the message.

"Perfect I have a meeting that should end at 5:40 so barring any last minute delayed I will be there to pick you up at 6:00 from New Scotland Yard. Did you have any preferences for the evening."

Greg had exactly two thoughts after finishing the message: 1. Thank Christ he doesn't hate me. 2. Fuck! He wants me to decide. I have picked what we do anytime we met before and now he wants to be considerate. The thought was lovely but it wasnt helping his blood pressure.

He knew that he couldn't pick some random restaurant, that would make it no different than any other time that they had met in the past. If he wanted to make it special he would have to skip a step or two of the relationship. He was using the logic of a gambler, bigger risk to get a bigger reward.

"I dont mean to be rude but I wouldn't mind cooking for you if that's okay."

Short. Sweet. Direct. Impossible to misunderstand. That was all it eeded to be. But he failed to consider follow up questions.

"It has been some time since I've had someone cook for me. That sounds wonderful. Would my home be okay for that? I have a full kitchen that I keep fully stocked."

"Oh, sorry. I didn't mean to invite myself over to your home on such short notice. We can do something else if that's too invasive." He shouldn't have been surprised by Mycroft's offer. He knew where Greg lived and that likely meant he knew about his lack of a proper kitchen to use to prepare food. He also didn't think about how he was going to cook for Mycroft had he not offered his own kitchen as an alternative. Had Mycroft not called him he may very well have descended into a rabbit hole of unconsidered complications. Greg moved to answer the call and prepare himself for whatever may unfold from it.

"Hello Gregory I hope you made it home safely."

"Yeah, I did. Thanks." 

"Beforr you start to let your mind wander to worse case scenarios as I've found you prone to do I simply realized that calling you directly would be a much more effect way of discussing our plans than messaging would be." His words were meticulously planned and considered before finally being spoken in that soft timber that put Greg at ease.

"Okay, just be honest with me then. Would you prefer if I didn't come over to cook?" He couldn't handle decifering the intricacies or tone and subtext in his current emotional state.

"Gregory are you okay? You sound terrified. If something I'd wrong I would be happy to help you with it." 

He was far too nice for a man who was a career politician deeply ingrained into the government. It was useless attempt to lie to Mycroft even over the phone. "I'm just worried. Worried I'll make s mistake and drive you away or that I'll fuck this all up like mynlast relationship. It's more than I should be puring on you so early on." He knew he had to be honest but this still qualified as oversharing and he stopped himself before the strwd of words was able to continue.

"Your previous relationship ended because of a vile woman who chose to abuse your good nature and kind soul. Please don't feel that It was your fault or that I anthing you do would push me away. We've known each other for years and I'm sure were past the fledgling stage of a relationship. It's less of something entirely new and more of a shift."

"A shift?"

"Yes like a horizontal move instead of a vertical one."

"I think I get it."

"Just understand that I care deeply for you and will be here for you regardless of how this may end."

"Thank you." He felt a tear slip from his eye but he knew it would be the only one. There was no need for more, Mycroft had plainly explained similar thoughts between them and it was precisely what was required. A simple explanation did wonders for him.

"You welcome though I don't believe that I've really done much. But onto tomorrow, its honestly trouble at all. I don't use my kitchen nearly as much as I should and being home will be much nicer and private than going out to eat." He was moving the conversation forward and preventing Greg from lingering on old issues.

"Okay well I'll cook you something nice. Did you have any preferences. Certain meats, veggies, or style?" He would happily make anything because he would finally be able to cook again.

"Any dish you choose should be fine but if it could be something without excessive fat that would be better but it's not necessary." Always being considerate and never forcing Greg's hand.

"Okay I'll find a good meal to make for us." He felt bad for not adding much to the conversation but talking over the phone had always been a weakness of his. Texting was easier because he had time to plan and think through his response. before sending it, but with a call he didn't have time to process or the persons physical reactions to gauge how to react.

"I trust that today went well for you." 

Greg was unaccustomed to questions of his day. His coworkers knew exactly how it was going and when he used to arrive home his wife had chosen to avoid all talk of police matters, and now when he got home there was simply no one there at all, but Mycroft did care. They had made it through the baring you soul phase so now it was time for some light venting.

"It went well, though I'm about to abandon all hope that I may ever see the sun again."

"Yes I know the feeling. Autumn chooses to drench us in rain to make up for the Summer."

"It's not just that it's rain. It's that the last few weeks weren't nearly as bad as this one. We got at least a few days of partial sunlight and it never came down this hard before."

"I wish I could do something but alas the weather exists outside of my control." It earned him a light laugh as he hoped it would.

They continued the conversation long into the night. Going over all matters form one subordinate that annoyed them but technically did nothing wrong, the illness spreading about, and what felt like a constant lack of printer ink at the worst times possible. The words brought Greg out of his funk and he knew it would linger into his sleep and until he saw Mycroft tomorrow night. The noodles were left in the microwave and the chance to cook real food for himself made them unappetizing to Greg anyway.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Do I need to start begging for comments? I'm not above it, I will do it.
> 
> Also sorry for the wait. I had a funeral to attend.


	8. Dinner time and doubts.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Greg wants everything to be perfect for Mycroft.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this took so long.

His emotions had been ricocheting between happiness and anxiety since he woke up that morning. One moment he had been cleaning himself in excitement for the night ahead and the next he was worried Mycroft would hate the smell of his cheap shampoo and body wash. He could be filled with anticipation and suddenly regret his choice of clothing. On a Friday he could get away with something more causal, a black jumper and nice jeans, but the second he had stepped out of his front door he second guessed himself if it was too casual for someone like Mycroft. He settled on wearing what he had on but he knew no matter what he chose it would feel like the wrong decision.

It continued on and on with each little thing he did. Was it too many cups of coffee? Did his coat look worn out? Would Myxroft be able to tell he was sleeping in it? Should he have shaved more thoroughly to get rid of his stubble? Did he get crumbs on himself from his pastry earlier?

His calm from the previous night had disappeared entirely and was replaced with anxiety that was worse than usual. Somewhere along the way he had convinced himself that it was a miracle anyone would even humor a date with an old knob like himself, let alone someone of Mycroft's status and power, so he reasoned that he needed to do everything as best he could to make up for being a cheap slob. Anytime he found himself slouching he would sit with ram rod straight posture and use one of those rubberband on his wrist to hell break the habit. It was the same with slurping his drinks or chewing too loudly. By the end of lunch there was a red mark on his wrist from all the times he had snapped the rubber band against it.

He was looking at his clock more than he normally wood. What would be the span of ten minutes between each glance at the clock was instead two minutes. He kept expecting to receive a call or text postponing the date and he didn't know if thay would make him happy or sad. There were sockany possibilities for things to go wrong and Greg expected them all to be like that. He was so precaution that he got a plain grilled chicken breast for lunch because he couldn't make a mess with something that simple. 

By the grace of got the clock eventually struck 5:30 and on the dot he recieved a text message from Mycroft.

"My meeting managed to finish early so I will be able to pick you up at 5:40 if that is okay with you."

"That works fine with me." Heep it shirt and simple, the less you say the less chances you have to fuck this up.

"Good, I shall be there shortly."

Greg made his way down to the stairs so he wouldn't leave Mycroft waiting. The issue was that he lacked anything to distract himself from his own fears and inhibitions, so they began to run rampant in his mind until the black car pulled up outside right when his phone turned to 5:40. He trudged through the rain into the car amd when he saw Mycroft the entire world shifted with him. All those doubts and anxieties were washed away by that welcoming smile.

"Hello Gregory." 

"Hey." He didn't know what would coke next but Mycroft made the decision for him when he enveloped him in those lanky limbs and rested his chin on Greg's shoulder. Greg looked his arms around that back which was lacking the usual jacket and only had on a fine dress shirt and a waistcoat. It was different and Greg almost preferred it. When he pulled back he intertwined their hands and the gesture was something he never wanted to lose.

"Did your day go well? I know there has been very little crime over the past few days."

"Yeah it has made my job easier but its not because of anything we do its just because everyone is too sick to go out and do anything."

"I'll say I'm envious of you. I would love if all the people I didn't like just got sick and stayed home so I never had to deal with them again." Theh had started to lean into each other and they broke eye contact. They weren't able to look at each other but the physical intimacy more than made up for it.

"Gregory?" 

"Yeah?" He had closed his eyes and didn't even realize it until they were open again.

"Could you humor me for a moment?"

"Sure Mycroft, what do you need?"

"Please explain rugby to me. I've look to the internet and other sources but they all lack the proper terms and definitions I require to understand it."

"You know like six languages but you can't understand rugby?"

"Yes."

"So just want me to start with the basics then?"

"I feel that that would be best if I want to fully comprehend the sport."

"Well to start there are usually fifteen players on each team..." he continued on like that. Discussing positions and strategies, the division of the game into 40 minute halves, why it was supposed to be played in the mud. He kept going on and on until he realized he'd fallen into talking about his old college team and their eternal failure. He sat up straight, removing himself from Mycroft's side, and let go of his hand to snap the rubberband against his wrist only to find he had lost it somewhere along the way.

....

The sudden change in Gregory was concerning. He had been relaxed and gesturing with his hands as he told tales from his years in university, and then like a switch had been flipped his entire demeanor changed. He separated himself from me and was sitting so straight that even a drill sergeant would tell him to relax. His hands were clenching each other tightly in his lap, and even without Gregory looking at him he could see the way fear had worked his way into his eyes, like he had done something horrible and expected to be prosecuted for it.

"I'm sorry, Mycroft. I didn't mean to get off topic and ramble on."

What was going through his head that would make him think I don't love everything that he says to me. "It's fine honestly. I enjoyed hearing the stories of your past and knowing the rules of the game made it all the easier to understand."

There was a single moment of contemplation before Gregory decided to continue his apology. "Still I'm sorry. You don't have to pretend to care about stupid shit like that. Just tell me when I'm rambling and I'll be quiet. No one needs to listen to my boring stories that don't matter. Sorry again." His voice was starting to waver as he continued and I could see the shining of the tears in his eyes just waiting to fall.

"Gregory really it is fine." I attempted to reach out amd touch him but I stopped when he spoke again.

"Please don't lie to me." The tears had begun their descent. "I can't live knowing that you hate my and are only nice to my face. Please don't lie to me, I'm not strong enough for it. I'll-"

I had pulled him close to silence those self deprecating words and to help him dry those tears. I shushed him and let my hands roam over his back to comfort him. "Gregory I'm telling you the truth. I'm happy to hear your stories."

"What would someone as important as you want with some washed up old trash like me?" It was barely a whisper but Mycroft hear every word of it and it ignited a burning rage within him. He knew the bitch who had left Gregory doubting his importance and validity as a person and he wanted to akin Mary alive. Each revelation brought him closer to using his influence is less savory ways.

"I love you." He didn't say anything more after that, he simply let it hand in the air for his Gregory to hear.

Those were words he always deemes himself too pathetic to hear in such an honest loving tone. He wanted to find so lie or fault in how he said it, a hesitation on a syllable or a quiver in his voice, a change in pitch or volume but he could find none. Those three words were more then he ever thought he would get in life, something so simple and yet they hold all the meaning and motivation it takes for one to continue living. 

Those hands began hosling his head and craned his head to stare directly into the cold eyes to search for an sount that may exist. Mycroft had known him well enough to force him to look him dead in the eyes fro conformation of his feeling. His hands went up to cover those holding his face and he cried thick ugly tears at the realization that this was real. These feeling weren't manipulations or lies for some personal gain. This was an emotion that was only meant to be felt in moments of close personal intimacy like this.

He needed to speak. "Your hands are cold." It wasn't romantic or deep but it was all he could say then. Mycroft's hands were cold and they were cooling the heated blush that had risen to his face and was spreading across his body. 

The tears continued and each time they were wiped away by the soft skin of those thumbs on his cheeks. The silence made him feel cherished and he wanted to savor every aspect of this experience. No matter what may happen he could live to ninety on just the memory of this openness and nothing more. His heart was aching because he'd never felt something like this since his says when his mother cared for him after a troubling time at school. It was for times like this that you even bother to continue living.

"I love you, Gregory." He fell forward this time unable to support his own weight anymore. His head fell onto that crisp shirt and his ear was resting right over the beating heart inside of that body. A sign that this god of a man who was chaning his entire world was still human just like him. He needed the sound to ground him from the emotional high he was on.

"Thank you." It was so quiet but it was all he was able to muster up his voice to say. He was basking in the moment and anything beyond existing wasn't important to him. He engrossed himself in the silence amd let his mind wander about. Is that how it would be sleeping next to Mycroft at night, this peace eminating from his bones and soothing his erratic soul because of his presence.

The time was fading away from him and he didn't know how long had passed once Mycroft gently broke the silence while stroling the back of his head. "Gregory, love I'm sorry to bother you but we've arri ed and I doubt you want to spend all night sitting here in the car."

"Okay. In good to get out of here and go inside." He got off of Mycroft and let him step out first and deploy his umbrella before stepping out himself and taking his hand. He didn't want to be separated right now, that could happen later but for now he needed the contact.

The walk up to his porch was still left him awestruck even with the rain falling all around them. It was standing like an obelisk in the night and was equally intimidating and magnificent. At the top of the short stairwell Mycroft closed his umbrella under the coved of the porch and started to fiddle with a security panel, it took less than thirty seconds for the code to be entered and the door was opened with a grand gesture for him to enter.

The inside was quaint, contrary to what the exterior led him to believe. All the decor was nice and certainly cost more than he could afford but none of it looked like 300 year old antiques that would break if you ao much as looked at them wrong. The tables and couches were slightly more minimal in design and it was offset by how they were adorned with finely crafted trinkets. End tables with with glass lamps and candles in one area and a coffee table with a statue of what he assumed was Poseidon riding on the back of a seahorse and spearing a fish. There was a worn blanket over the back of the couch but the smaller sofa and chair were barren. As he walked further inside he saw the large mounted tv above the mantle.

"It looks expensive but I tried for something more sensible to live in, I'd rather not risk breaking everything if it's a little dark and I bump against it." Mycroft was still standing by the door looking at him expectantly and he realised he still had his coat on and Mycroft was waiting to take it from him.

"Oh shit. Sorry if I'm getting water on your floors." He quickly undid the buttons and handed it to Mycroft who deposited it inside a closet next to the entrance.

"Don't concern yourself with it. It pays to have laminated hard wood across most of your home, much easier to clean and maintain." He finally came forward from the doorway and Greg followed behind him like a lost little duckling.

Mycroft passed him and he chanced a glance upward to find the second and thirty floor balconies as well as the vaulted ceiling. The living room seemed like a little nook in comparison to the main room.

"It looks nice but it takes almost too much effort to maintain and I can't remodel without compromising the structure of the building."

"Okay." He didn't know what he was supposed to say.

"Would you like a tour?" His tone indicated he was offering for Gregory's sake instead of his own desire to show it off, which was fine with him since he felt amazed by the little he'd already seen.

"No thanks. I'm overwhelmed by all of this by itself. I may just pass out if I see all of it too soon."

"I'll make a note of it."

"But could you show me where the kitchen is? I should go ahead and start cooking if we want to eat before eight."

"I'm perfectly fine with a large meal."

"Yeah well I'm cooking so I'll decide when its it's done."

"Fair point." He took Greg's hand and pulled him through a door and an archway to the dining room and kitchen. They were really just one large room and were only separated by the change from hardwood flooring to tiled floors and the breakfast bar. The kitchen area by itself was significantly bigger than his flat and he was beginning to feel selfconscious again. Thankfully Mycroft squeezed the hand he was still holding and brought Greg back down to earth with him. "Did you have any plans for a meal already of were you going to serve your options?"

"I had an idea of what I wanted but if you're craving something specific I can make that instead." 

"Whatever you want is fine, and I've made sure all the cabinets are stuffed so you will not be lacking any ingredients."

"Okay I'll get to work then." He opened the fridge and found beef, chicken, and pork thawing in there. He pulled out the ground beef and moved the rest of the items to the freezer so they wouldn't spoil. Some rifling around in the cabinets got him all the pots he needed, sole rigatoni noodles, assorted seasonings, and so tomato paste.

Hw filled thevlergest pot with water to start boiling and while he let it set he started to brown the ground beef in a pan. The sound of keys being clicked on a keyboard resonated from behind him and he could feel Mycroft's presence from across the counter. It calmed all his nerves and he slowly lost himself in his work. Strainging the fat from the meat, boiling the noodles and draining them, mix up the sauce with extra spices, and transfering it all to a casserole dish and sprinkling cheese on top of it. It wasn't a big dish but it would be plenty for the two of them, he popped it into the oven on convection bake and se the timer.

"It'll be about 40 minutes till it's finished if you want to go do something else. I'll go ahead and start washing all the dishes I used." Greg had already made his way over to sink where he deposited all the pots and pans from his cooking.

"You don't need to do that Gregory. You're already making dinner the least I could do is clean the dishes." He stood to come around to the sink but he was stopped by Greg purring a hand up.

"I'm fine doing this, it's better when I'm busy doing something with my hands so I dont overthink things."

"If your sure." He was examining him for say doubt or shame that may have resurfaced. When he found none he sat back down and resumed writing his report on the state of affairs. The hum of the oven and sounds from the dishes being scrubbed led to domestic atmosphere that filled the air. He was liking it more than his usual dinners at restaurants or late nights spent in the Diogones. Just coexisting in their space together without any rush to worry about.

The dishes were finished and the timer on the oven still listed another 8 minutes until the food was done so Greg went through the cabinets and found the plates and cutlery. When he came to what he assumed was the pantry he opened the door and found that it housed all of Mycroft's alcohol as well as each drinks accompanying glasses. There was more wine than anything else.

"Did you want to have some wine with dinner." He had seen Greg eyeing the cabinet in curiosity.

"It would be nice but I haven't the slightest idea which one to choose." There were at least twenty bottles of wine alone and that didn't even cover the scotch and brandy.

Mycroft came from beind him and deftly selected a single bottle seemingly at random. "Red should be fine with beef and pasta unless you would like to have something else."

"No, no that's fine." He hadn't had wine since the toast at his wedding and he couldn't even remember the last time he had it before then. He was never a wine man, too rich for his blood.

"Well I'll get down the glasses while you go set up the plates. Did you want to eat at the breakfast counter or the table.?"

There he was giving Greg all the decisions and. It forcing him to a certain one. "I guess the counter. The table is too big for just two people to eat at it." And it was much more personal at the counter but that went unsaid.

Two places were set next to each other and the bottle of wine was bet between them. The pasta bake had been pulled out and set on a hot plate to cool down a bit. Once it could be safely distributed two portions were scooped out onto the plates.

Mycroft was sitting to Greg's left and he was looking at him intently. He was terrified of how his food turned out. Eveey stepchad been followed correctly and it looked good but the fear about it tasting terrible wouldn't dissipate until Mycroft tried it and didn't reject it in disgust. As he brought the fork up to his mouth he was tempted to tell him to stop and offer to just buy some take away so he wouldn't have to deal with possible rejection. He bit his tongue and was sweating as the fork passed between those lips that had him mesmerised. 

Mycroft swallowed the food and his mouth turned up into a smile. "It's lovely. Than you Gregory."

"Thank you." His fear seemed so superfluous after it all and he could finally take a bite of it himself. It turned out better than he had hoped, thanks in part to the high quality ingredients, and his meticulous care with each step in making it. Dinner was silent just as its preparation had been and Greg realised that's what it meant when a relationship was functioning well, you could sit in silence with you other half and be just as happy as you would be when talking.

The rest of the casserole left was wrapped in plastic wrap and placed inside the fridge to be eaten later. All the plates and cutlery were left in the sink to soak for a while and they retired to the livingroom to relax. Greg was feeling braver after his two glasses of wine and he laid himself out across the long couch directly across from the TV. He got white a chock when Mycroft situated himself on top of him with his head rising in his hands on Greg's chest.

"Thank you again dinner was lovely." His was plastered with a grin that was far too dopey for a man meant to intimidate the horrors of the modern world.

"No problem, love." He was warm and lazy from the meal and the alcohol circulating through his blood gave him the courage to call Mycroft by the playful pet name. 

The term of endearment brought color to those pale cheets and he looked away for only a moment before he returned to stare back at Greg. "Would you care to watch something."

"Sure. Something funny and entertaining, but nothing important enough that I'll be sad to miss it if I happen to get distracted." He loved being able to be direct with someone for once.

"Black Adder?"

"Perfect."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For anyone hoping for smut in sorry to say you'll have to wait until the next chapter for it. I had to separate it or this was going to be too long. Please comment if you want to.


	9. Low lights

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The smut you've all be waiting for.

Time was relative when you were happy and the hours blended together as soon as they got onto the couch. The persistent ticking of the clock telling the time was ignored in favor of embracing Mycroft. He knew hijinks were ensuing on on the TV, but the feel of that lanky body resting atop him was much more interesting. That genius head was resting in those long limps crossed over his chest and how his eyes would glance up to check Lestrade's expression every so often. He had taken the chance and began stroking over the planes of his back through his shirt as he had removed the waistcoat and draped it over the chair on the other side of the room. He'd never seen Mycroft so exposed physically or emotionally and he knew it was a rare sight very few were privy to.

Later Mycroft grew tired of the half hearted attempt to watch the show and instead focused fully on Gregory. He started by simply turning his head and making eye contact with him, before breaking it and gently brushing their lips against one another. It was so light and barely there, yet it had been everything he hoped it would have been. However instead of satiating his craving for the man it drove him to want more and when Gregory began to kiss him back, which soon progressed to sloppily snogging like teenagers.

It wasn't pretty or delicate but it was what they both desired. Something to settle the fire ignited inside of them after too long without another. Hands went to hair and the back of necks to bring them closer. The necessary moments they would break for air were scant. For Greg it was different than being with a woman but no less pleasurable, the change to wide shoulders and slim hips were equally attractive as anyone he had dates before.

The feeling of Mycroft's hard prick rubbing into his abdomen was encouraging and he plundered that mouth with renewed vigor until an explosion could be beard coming from the tv. The noise disrupted their make out session and they broke the kiss so Mycroft could pull away and turn it off. 

"Should we head up to the bedroom." Mycroft's blush grew worse as he spoke.

Greg knew what was being offered, his first time having sex with another man. He had no idea how to do most of it but Mycroft had been so patient with him up until then so maybe he wouldn't mind teaching Greg how things went. "Sure but I'm afraid I'm flying blind here."

"Don't worry. I'll show you it's not too different from what you've done before." He pulled Greg off the couch and lead him up the stairs and past several doors before finally stopping and opening one for them to enter through.

The room inside held all the personal details the main room lacked. An overstocked bookshelf, trinkets on the dressers, a large photo of a pastel landscape on one wall, and the curtains and bed spread were both in a deep scarlet instead of the muted tones from before. It was all Mycroft's house but this specifically was Mycroft's space.

"Now, where were we?" Mycroft was now consuming his vision and planting gentle pecks all across his face. Greg recuperated and also tried to undo the buttons along Mycroft's shirt, but his hands felt far too clumsy to mess with the delicate fabric. Mycroft brought his hands up and steadied then in his task. "Don't fret. I'll be here with you every time you need me." 

As the last button popped free Mycroft bulled back to let it fall from his body, Greg took the chance to pull his own shirt off and tossed if over his shoulder. When his gaze returned to Mycroft his brain ceased to function as he took in all the pale skin on display for him. Mycroft had forgone an undershirt, so Greg could see his entire torso and it incited something inside of him. He wanted nothing more than to caress those pale arms and shoulders to comfort the iceman, and he wanted to tweak those rosy nipples while he pleasured the man. When he saw the little layer of pudge that was the basis of Mycroft's insecurities he wanted to hold the man close so he would understand that it didn't matter to him. There were so many things he wanted to do but those would have to wait until after their first time together.

He didn't want to wait too long and made short work of his belt before he got his pants off and stood in only his socks and briefs. For how much effort he put into his appearance today he thought it may have been a mistake to choose his school bus yellow briefs when sex was a possibility. He tried to lower then to the ground as well when as hand stopped him.

"Gregory, you're so scandalous." Mycroft had removed his own clothes and had only his black boxers on. He was staring intently at the way Greg's cock poked out against the fabric and was getting it wet from the amount of precum dripping from him. "I do hope you plan to wear those again." He pressed their torsos together again and with only the thin layers of material separating them the press of their hard cocks together was more prominent. "I need to see you in these in every color." He was looked Greg in the eyes as his hand drifted down that firm back, below the waistband, and squeezed his arse.

"Ooh, Mycroft." How could he call Greg scandalous when he just groped his arse without warning. Greg didn't mind it, but hypocrisy was always annoying.

Mycroft continued his ministrations while adding in light kisses to the column of his neck and slow grinding against him as an apology for his actions. "I'm sorry Gregory but I must confess that I've wanted to do that for months now."

"Cheeky bastard." He kissed him rather land letting himself feel appalled by it, it was nice to be desired by someone he found equally attractive. 

Mycroft pulled him back until his knees hit the bed and he fell back with Greg on top of him. Greg pulled back to avoid crushing him and Mycroft lowered his boxers and allowed them to drop to the floor, his cock springing up after they freed freed from the confines of it. Greg was staring at it in curiosity, he'd seen plenty of men's pricks before, hazard of playing rugby and being in the police academy, but he'd never seen one when he had the intention of bringing them pleasure. The though renewed his own idea of being too ill prepared for this.

"Breath Gregory. Remember I'm here." Mycroft had slid up the bed and had rested his head on a pillow, with it angled down to look at Gregory still standing there like a little lost puppy.

"Alright, w-what should I do?" Blessed be this patient man, he's doing so much for me.

"Drop your briefs and climb onto the bed between my legs. I'll show you how to open me up or I you want I can do it myself." He was a bit embarrassed to be explaining it all, but he understood how awkward it was. He had to learn how to do it, and it wasn't exactly a fun affair for him.

He wanted to learn, for the future, if there was a future for them. "Show me how, please." He dropped his briefs and made his move, ignoring the bounce of his cock with each step he took.

As Greg got up and situated between Mycroft's legs resting on his haunches, Mycroft reached over to the nightstand and pulled out a packet of lube and a condom. The condom was tossed next to him and Mycroft ripped open the packet and squeezed a dollop of it onto his index finger and bringing it down to his entrance. He pushed in just to the first knuckle and Greg was too enthralled by the sight to see the blush coloring Mycroft's face.

Mycroft slowly started pumping him finger in and out, always to just the first knuckle. "You just have to go nice and slow starting out." He progressed down to the second knuckle and distracted himself from his own please by observing Gregory's reaction. The detective looked ruined and they had yet to even have sex, his hair was a mess, sweat was forming on his brow, and his breathing was coming out in pants. As he finally worked his finger in all the way he just managed to get the second finger into the first knuckle when Gregory spoke up.

"Can I try." His face turned from lust to regret in an instant. He mind filled with thoughts of what be believed to be his own stupidity and cluelessness. "I mean only if you want me to. I don't want to hurt you or anything. Actually, I'll prolly mess up and accidentally hurt you actually. You should just continue yourself."

"Gregory, it's fine, uhh." He had just gotten his second finger in all the way and he was too aroused to have a decent conversation. "If you would like to try I'm amenable. Do you want to do it?" He received a shy nod in response. "Okay give me your hand." He did as told and Mycroft squeezed more of the lube onto his middle and index fingers and then positioned that hand at his rim after removing his own digits. "Now push in slowly, I'm already stretched a bit so you should be able to start with two fingers."

"Okay." He slowly pushed against the pink pucker and the feel of being engulfed by that tight heat was nothing like he expected. He'd done similar things with previous female partners and thus immediately felt more intimate and personal than anything else he had done before, maybe it was related to the trust and care that was required between partners to prevent any injuries. His was slowly sinking in and it started to feel like he was being pulled down into that warm body. Once he reached the base of his fingers he was lost again. "M-Mycroft what do I do now?"

""S-Spread your fingers apart. G-Go s-slowly. Rotate your hand a little." He sounded wrecked and Greg didn't think he'd done anything to deserve such a beautiful view of the man laid out for him.

"Okay." He began scissoring his fingers, and he feared how he was going to fit inside of Mycroft at all. This was so tight by itself and his cock was bigger than just two fingers. Regardless of his inhibitions he did as instructed and moved his hand in and out whilst turning it slightly. Eventually he found a small bump and pressed against it.

"Ooooh." Greg pulled his fingers back but left them inside after hearing the noise Mycroft made, unsure if it was a good sound or a bad one. "Tha-that would be my prostate. It feels amazing when its touched, but try not to be too aggressive or I won't last very long." 

Greg resumed his actions and was careful to only bump against Mycroft's prostate occasionally, but it was tempting to do it more so he could enjoy the sweet moans he was making. They could only be described as scandalous.

"Try a third finger now. Do it just like I was when I added my second finger." He was falling apart in front of Greg's eyes.

Greg removed his hand hand slowly pushed in the fingers to the first knuckle. This was beyond understanding, he was sure he wouldn't fit at all. Just three little digits were struggling to make it inside, but he continued on and they all managed to squeeze snugly inside of him. He wanted to try and move them but he was interrupted by Mycroft. "Gregory, fuck me."

"Are you sure I don't think I'll-"

"It'll be tight, but it's more pleasurable like that. Trust me"

"Okay." He pulled out bus fingers and rolled on the condom, trying to ignore the thought that it happened to be in the correct size for him. He braced himself on Mycroft's sides and was reassured when cool fans fell atop his own. He was lined up and slowly pushed himself in. As his head popped past the rim he was ready to blow his load embarrassingly fast. This was more pleasurable than anything he had done before in his life. His whole being felt like it was being engulfed by that tight heat and he wasn't even halfway in yet. 

It was due to his own concern that he entered as slowly as he did, moaning at every centimeter that slipped inside. Mycroft didn't fare much better with how he was dribbling onto his stomach. As Greg bottomed out they both knew it would take very little to end things and for a first time together that was fine. Each knew this wouldn't be their final time with one another.

He remained there, buried to the hilt inside the most powerful man in all of England. His first timid thrust didn't even have him pull put all the way, he only got halfway out before he was overrun with desire and pushed back inside startling Mycroft.

"Gregory I'm not made of glass, but in also not made of steel."

"Sorry." He really wasn't. The pleasure he experienced when he thrust inside of Mycroft was heady and alluring, so he did it again. This time he managed to get all the way out except for the head and then thrust back inside, sizing up Mycroft and how he was slowly losing himself to the feeling of it. Those cool eyes were now blown wide and cloudy with lust, his skin was tinged pink in his modestly, and his cock lay there neglected and weeping for attention. 

Once Greg achieved a semblance of a consistent rhythm Mycroft moved his hand to start stroking himself and it aroused Greg all the more. Mycroft was skilled with each twist and pull of his prick and he had gotten it synced up with Greg's thrusts to maximize his own pleasure. His body was arching and his mouth was forming an O at the feelings inside of him. Greg couldn't restrain himself anymore and went to take that mouth in his.

The kissing was desperate and hurried, each trying to muffle their moans in the others mouth. Mycroft moved his free hand to hold that mouth against his whole his other continued to stroke his cock even as it was pressed between their stomachs. He pulled Greg's face back when he knew he could no longer last and bore into those eyes as he came between them. The sight was enough for Greg to run out of stamina and reach his own relief.

Greg collapsed, pulled out, and rolled onto the side of the bed so that Mycroft wouldn't be trapped beneath him. They stayed silent for a moment basking in their afterglow when he felt felt Mycroft removing the Condom from his softening cock and tying it off before it was tossed into the bin by the bed. Once that was done he pulled out some wet wipes and delicately cleaned his release of himself and Greg, taking care to be gentle against his skin still sensitive from intercourse.

When Mycroft laid down beside him Greg realized the gravity of his situation. "Shit I've fucked a bloke." He thought. 

He rolled onto his stomach facing away from Mycroft so he couldn't see the panic in his expression. He knew it wasn't wrong or illegal or anything but in the aftermath of it he felt fragile and all his doubts and fears came rushing back into him.

He was thinking of reasons to leave or excuse himself so Mycroft wouldn't have to watch him break down again. Twice in one day was too much for anyone let alone someone as important as Mycroft. 

He was about to say something about more paperwork he needed to do (it was too late to go into work but he was desperate and out of ideas) when he felt one of those perfectly maintained hands scratching into the space between his shoulder blades. He loved when anyone would do that for him but he was confused by the action, no one had ever done something like this before after sex, usually they didn't even want to cuddle or be near him once they were done. "Mycroft, y-you don't have to d-do that."

"I know but I want to. I hate seeing you so tense." He pressed in harder and Greg's argument of "Its too much effort died on his lips." 

He was like a car really, just scratch his back a little and he would be puddy in your hands. Mycroft continued his light treatment and roamed across the entire expanse of his back, paying special attention to the area just above the small of his back. There he pressed in with more effort and even pushed both thumbs down directly onto his spine until he heard a satisfying pop that made Greg groan.

"What was that?" His words were slurred and he was growing tired from the comforting actions.

"There was a knot in your back, I could tell it's been there for quite some time and I decided it was due to be fixed." He rubbed into that same spot in small circles with the palm of his hand.

"Ohh, Mycroft, that feels wonderful." This was better than the sex, he never thought how pleasant a back massage after sex could be, but, now it seemed like the most obvious combination of things in the world.

Mycroft had ceased his caresses and laid down on the bed again. "Come here love." And Greg did just that, cuddling up against Mycroft, using his shoulder as his pillow and wrapping his arms and legs around him. Once he was situated that cool hand returned to his back and began its sweeping touches that soothed him to sleep after Mycroft brought the covers up to the small of his back to keep him warm. "Sleep love. I'll be here for you in the morning."

The touches continued long after Greg was brought into unconsciousness. Mycroft wanted the overworked DI to be free of tension when he rose in the morning, so he deftly worked on every knot along his back sides. When it had all been settled his still ghosted his fingers over the skin and scratched along his spine which mad Gregory burrow deep against him. He wasn't purely altruistic in his actions, he enjoyed the feeling of a warm body radiating against his chilled hands. He wasn't sure how long he kept rubbing into his skin, but he fell asleep embracing him closely, with his chin rested on those silvery locks.

....

At one point early in the morning Greg woke from a nightmare and was glad to see he hadn't disturbed Mycroft's slumber with his ruckus. Just seeing him sleeping there he felt contentment at his situation. His very being felt soothed to his very core. During the night he had shifted to have his head rest on the pillows and now he wanted to simply gaze at Mycroft's sleeping face as he slept, noting the way his normally tidy hair was staring to curl a bit at the edges. He almost preferred it, it made him look more soft and even a bit adorable. The sun had yet to rise above the horizon but he could excuse being up since he was able to enjoy something like this.

He'd been staring for quite some time when he realize those eyes had opened and were gazing back at him with equal intensity, absorbing the moment of silent satisfaction.

"Good morning, Gregory." He was stroking over Greg's side in the same manner as he had been the precios night.

"Morning. Sorry for staring. Hope I wasn't being a creep." Just a few minutes with the man and Greg was blush wildly.

"Do ya think we should get up."

"No, we don't need to and I don't want to." 

"Neither do I." 

"Then its settled." They stayed close and drifted in and out of consciences.

After that the world didn't disturb them for hours. They slept late into the morning still huddled close like they were all that the world consisted of. There was no need for anything beyond them because they had one another

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Am I good at this? Should I stop writing smut?
> 
> Please leave comments


	10. Weekend's Reserved for Nothing

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Who says the morning after has to be awkward and cold.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I feel like a horrible person for taking so long on the update guys. I didn't even get to proofread as thoroughly as I would like because I wanted to get it out already. It's been several weeks but I hope someone is still interested in reading this.

He had memorized every detail of that face and still Mycroft could continue to stare at it for an eternity. Such kindness resting just below the tired exterior that had been battered by betrayal and crushed dreams. In the past Mycroft had hoped Gregory was truly as kind as he initially came off and he had never acted in a way to disprove that sincerity.

There were two things Mycroft had learned from their night together. 1) Gregory was a gentle, considerate lover who put his partners pleasure over his own. 2) The man was basically a fucking cat. He liked cuddles, attention, he was absolutley adorable in his own way, he preferred to sleep and laze about at any time he could, and if you scratched him just right he would melt in your hands. Not the expected way a forty year old police officer would act it bed, but it was definitely something Mycroft found agreeable.

For nearly two hours Mycroft had been drifting in and out of a state of consciousness which was extremely out of character for him, but the presence of Gregroy prompted him to relax and rest. Decades of a perfect sleep schedule had been disrupted by one sleepy detective Inspector nuzzling into his skin and refusing to let him go. These were the days that classic romance novels favored, the kind where small moments that others might dismiss could become the focal point if an entire day.

Greg had shifted again to now sleep on Mycroft's chest leaving his back exposed to that piercing gaze. Mycroft was privy to every twitch as his body moved with his breathing. He had an interest in back muscles before, but seeing Gregory like that was igniting a desire to work his fingers deeper into them than he was able to achieve last night. Already he could see the need to rub into his shoulders to better set the bones of his upper back. They had been displaced from years of slouching and if Mycroft was deducting correctly, nights curled in on himself. The poor man had wrapped himself tightly in a ball as he slept to make up for the lack of physical touch, and the evidence was clear in the knots of his back.

Mycroft wanted to act on his desires and do more than gentle caresses, so in the silence of the night he finally did what he felt like. He reached down to the small of Greg's back where he had slid a vertebra into place just hours ago and pressed two fingers in to rub over the spot, still sensitive from the earlier actions.

"Ahh." It seemed his attempt at comfort had woken the other man up. 

Mycroft may have left slight guilt at disrupting his lovers sleep, but it was approaching 10:00 AM, and they should get up soon. His only work for the day were a few emails but it was best to spread them out rather than doing the lot of them all at once. Whenever he did that he wanted to pass out from sheer boredom, running the government may involve plots and scenes but his positions meant he was doomed to fire them from afar and deal with the formalities of them. Even with a photographic memory it took far too long to get through the excessive text attached to each email.

"Good morning, Gregory." It was barely a whisper, not wanting to speak to loudly less the man have a headache upon his awakening.

"Hey, Myc." He couldn't make it through Mycroft, it was just too many syllables for someone still barely conscious.

"I trust you slept well through the night." Mycroft knew he had spelt wonderfully with the warm body close to him.

"Yeah." He was nuzzling into Mycroft, letting his wild hair tickle his skin.

"Gregory while I certainly love this I must ask that you let me get up so I may prepare breakfast." He wanted to stay in bed but he needed to eat something soon as well as use the bathroom to relieve himself. 

"Time is it?" The words were drowsy and only half formed.

"9:52, we have the whole day to laze about but first I need to get up." This man was far too tempting to just stay in bed and cuddle into him for several more hours.

The announcement of the time made him tense up and push off of Mycroft to look him in the eyes. "Oh shit, I'm sorry to have kept you, I'll let you get to work, just gimme a sec to grab by shit and I'll leave you alone."

He tried to pull away but the hand grasping his wrist stopped him. "Calm down, Gregory. I've no work to do that can't be done here and I'd appreciate your company for the day if you lack any prior commitments."

"You want me to stay?" It didn't make any sense to him, Mycroft had much more important things to do than keep him company.

"I'd love if you would stay...after a shower."

"Oh...uh...okay." Greg didn't expect Mycroft to be the type for shower sex, but he also didn't think's Mycroft would be the type of person interested in him.

"Not for sex. You need to clean up. You can do it while in preparing breakfast for us. Is that agreeable?" It would be an actual dream to have Gregory there along side him for the day.

"Okay, I can do that." He knew he was blushing and he rolled out of the way to try and hide and let Mycroft get up.

"Good I'll head downstairs. Feel free to use any products that you care to use in the shower." He walked to his wardrobe and began to pull out items, while Greg went straight to the bathroom, wanting to scrub himself clean for Mycroft.

The bathroom matched the bedroom, personal and with just a hint of cluttered to indicate it was lived in. Greg had expected either a claw footed bathtub or an all glass shower with about twenty five different nozzles to choose from but, instead he found neither. It was a nice simple old shower/bath combo and it made him relax. This he could understand. He actually understood it better than he would have expected. He was going to mark it as the one occasion someone used a new shower and it didn't require ten minutes of prep to understand how it worked.

The water pressure was strong and he could set it to a cooler temperature that he preferred, warm showers were great for relaxing, but a cool one woke him up. And helping him relax would have been redundant, he felt so happy and content since he woke up that morning. The deep ache in his bones was gone and he knew it had to do with Mycroft's sweet touches to his back and the loud pop of a knot being worked out and a bone being shifted slightly. 

Mycroft took in all the individual bodywashes, shampoo, and conditioner, as well as an all in one product. They were all brands he recognized from a regular store though they were all top shelf brands that he avoided on account of not wanting to splurge on it (he had other items he would spend his extra money on). Greg used the 3 in 1 bottle to clean his hair and skin, just something nice and simple, also using a single product meant he could get out of the shower faster and see Mycroft sooner.

While drying off Greg thought about how he should dress for the day. Putting all his clothes back on didn't seem appropriate, but it was hard to gauge anything with no knowledge of what Mycroft was wearing. He knew he needed to put something on so he retrieved his yellow briefs from the pile of clothes from last night. He was covered by it would still be wrong to go downstairs like that even with Mycroft's apparent fascination with him in his briefs. Greg spotted a charcoal dressing gown once hook by the door and took it down, then slipped it over his shoulders. 

He tied it around his waist but it didn't quite cover his chest due to his wider shoulders and more muscular frame in comparison to Mycroft. It reached down to his mid thigh and he could only think of how he had worn his coat to bef and let the fabric tickle the backs of his knees. It was humorous in hindsight. Should Mycroft not be amused by him in as dressing gown and his pants he could always claim he was too tired to get dress and put something else on once breakfast had been finished. With any luck he would be able to minimize the collateral damage if he made a mistake.

....

Mycroft turned from setting the table when he heard footsteps approaching the entrance to the kitchen. Standing there at its entrance was a sight that could have made Mycroft a religous man, because something this wonderful could only be a gift from above. Gregory was wearing his robe and it was too small to adequately cover his body, leaving large swathes of skin around his chest and legs exposed. The charcoal matched the light dusting of hair across his torso. At the bottom below the best he could see the peeling of that yellow fabric of his briefs where his stance was wide enough to spread the fabric of the dressing down exposing him. He wanted to take a picture as proof this wasn't just so illusion constructed by his hind but that would be rude.

"Gregory, you look..." He couldn't think of a way to describe it, only how he himself felt overdressed in his rolled up dress shirt and slacks.

"Is speechless a good thing or a bad thing?" He was nervous and crossed him arms over himself to cover up.

Mycroft couldn't let the sight hide itself from him. "Good in all ways except to my productivity. I fear I will be spending the entirety of my day looking at you and committing each image to memory."

"Oh, okay." He was flattered more than anything else, and to have Mycroft acting so forward was an accomplishment in it's own right.

Mycroft crossed the kitchen and pressed him against the doorway while he claimed that smart mouth of his. Greg's hands went to Mycroft's back for support, but Mycroft was currently untying the strap on that frssing down. He understood that Gregory may have a desire for modestly but he couldn't stand the idea of that lushous skin being hidden from his view. He knew that he could love to be 100 just on the image of that body in his mind.

These were the kinds of things you could only dream about. Finding a wonderfully wrecked detective Inspector walking into you kitchen scandalously underdressed in a Paris of neon pants. Mycroft had always prided himself on his restraint of more primal urges but it was all for naught with Gregody around. He could enjoy himself now or wait and observe him through the day, and have some fun later. His libido wasn't what it used to be and even someone as active as Gregory was no longer a spring chicken.

Mycroft pulled back and he could tell Gregory was hesitating at the action. "I would love to take this further but unfortunately I've prepared breakfast and it's nearly impossible to reheat beans and toast correctly." 

"You made breakfast." Greg hadn't had someone prepare him breakfast in years, he had always been the one to cook and prepare meals. Well if his current partner even wanted to eat together, Mycroft going out of the way to share breakfast with him was going to leave him shell shocked.

"Well, yes. It's only right for me to less I come off as an inhospitable host." He would pamper Gregory in e very way possible if only he would be allowed to do so.

"I guess you dont have many one night stands do you?" 

"I fail to see how a preplanned date that was proceeded by other dates and tears of interactions may qualify as a one night stand. I may never have had one before but I am inclined to believe that I understand the basics of it." He was bringing the por of beans over to the table and waiting for the toast to finish in the toaster. He was aiming to please, and while frying it in a pan may have yielded a more satisfactory taste, Mycroft want to focus his attention on the beans. It also didnt hurt that he owned a toaster and needed an excuse to validate the purchase.

The pot was put onto a hot plate near the plates, and the toast popped up from the toaster. "Take a seat Gregory just let me grab them and we can eat." He was already walking over by the counter to plate the toast as Greg remained stationary by the door. When Mycroft turn around and found him glued to the same spot he began to worry again. "Are you Okay, Gregory? Is there something troubling you?"

He eyes were hazy with the dampness of tears just forming at the corners of his eyes. "I...I..  
Thank you. I haven't had someone show me such kindness in a while. I'm overreacting I know but its just different is all." There were certainly tear tracts forming along his face and he didnt find them shameful in the least.

He came up to the crying man and embraced him. Mycroft new first hand the necessity and impact of physical reassurance. Things were fragile following their night together, and emotionally it was important to tread carefully to avoid a fallout. "I'm happy to do anything so long as it's with you." Emotions were hard but being a protector was second nature to him. "Come let's eat. Filling your empty stomach will surely help you feel better." 

Greg allowed himself to be led and even let Mycroft pull the chair out for him, in all the talks of chivalry he had over his life never had he thought he would be on t he receiving end of it, or would he find himself enjoying it as much as he did.

They sat and after the food was served they ate in silence. The beans were sweeter than Greg was used to but it was a pleasant change to the standard way he had it in the past. Rather than just using his hands like he normally would he chose to use a fork since he wasn't wearing a shirt and he would rather not spill it all over himself.

It was creamy in texture and mapely sweet in taste. The refinement of flavor that could only be achieved through repeated creation. "This is wonderful." His words were muffled by the mouthful, but he needed to express his sincere gratitude and appreciation for the food.

Mycroft swallowed the bite ue was eating before he responded. "Thank you, Gregory. I've mad each habit if enjoying this on the occasions I'm able to cook for myself."

"Selling it short." He cut off another peace and chewed on it. "This is bloody amazing. Reminds me of my mother's cooking."

"No need for the feigned praise. It is only beans and toast. Anyone can make it."

"But they cant all make it this good."

Mycroft's face blushed while his heart warmed with Gregory's relaxed nature. Too often the man acted as polite and proper as possible when in Mycroft's presence, and such acts didn't suit him. 

Being loud, fun, and even a bit of a slob were all reasons Mycroft treasured his company. Greg didn't lie to him and he wanted that to extend to his actions. They could spend eternity together and Myxroft would never grow tired of their time together.

"Would you care for another attempt at Black Adder once breakfast is finished. We lost the plot when we became preoccupied with our escapades last night."

"That...that sounds nice." Greg had just finished his plate and Mycroft wasn't far behind him. "Would you like me to hand the dishes first?"

"There's no need for that. Besides they will need to soak before they can be washed, one of the downsides of making it in this manner."

"The taste was worth any struggle."

"I'm glad you think so, you're more than welcome to scrub them clean later. It will be nice having someone else to do the work around here for me." Mycorft ate the last bite of his toast and picked up both plates while still chewing.

"Don't put words in my mouth, that's what starts fights." He graded the pot from the table and boomed myxroft as he was filling the sink with water.

"I believe what state fights is drunken idiots but they not work in all contexts."

"What like politics?" Greg wound his arms around Mycroft, holding him loosely. 

"No it is certainly prevalent in higher offices. Just becuase they avoid it while on the cabinet floor dont assume they have an restraint."

"I'll have to take your advice in the next election, dont want the stigma of a drunk from the east end going all the way up the chain of command." They chuckled together the joke

From tears to laughter in less than an hour. Mycroft was unused to such open expression of emotions, but this was a change that he supported. Many people learned to be sterile around him in an attempt to hide information from his knowing mind, but it wouldn't help them. You had to be a true enigma to avoid his keen perception.

The dishes were deposited in the sink but Greg refused to let go of Mycroft.

"Come now, Gregory. We need to head to the living room if we are to watch Black Adder."

"It can wait. Besides you prolly jsut want to stare at me in my yellow briefs dont you." Greg said teasingly.

"The image of you in them is quite appealing to me I will not deny that."

"You posh little devil." With that Greg finally released Mycroft from the embrace. 

"What did you expect, I'm still a politician after all. We have a certain knack for unsavory desires."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> COMMENTSSS!!!!!!. (Over head crane shot zooms out as my arms are raised into air while I scream in anguish).


	11. That Well Acquainted Longing

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The weekend as come to a close again and tis time to get back to wrk as they usually do.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm back.
> 
> Also I hope whatever it is I write, that it is till of a higher quality than YIIK.

The weekend was over and he was back at his flat, away from Mycroft and his fancy house full of expensive things and his fully stocked fridge. There were plenty of things he loved about Mycroft that had no relation to his weath, but going from being able to cook every meal together to having to survive off instant ramen again was like throwing a wet blanket over his feelings.

Being forced to come home on Sunday night after their days of sex and lounging about was eye opening to how different him and Mycroft lived their lives. His flat seemed more dingy and run down than it had on Friday. It didn't make sense to him. He'd been living there for months yet only now did it feel like a hobble. There was no illusion that it may have been a palace but at least something less rundown. Just looking around it there appeared to be a layer of grime coating every surface and it was waying the room down.

Less than a minute ago when Mycroft had dropped him off outside, he was in a slightly somber mood from having to say goodbye, but he was still in good spirits from the waves of joy that washed over him in their extended time together. And, now after simply stepping across the thresh hold into his home all that happiness had crumbled away.

"I've gotta clean this place up." Had he just missed it? Was he too preoccupied with life to notice the mess that was his flat slowly accumulating into this heap of disgust. Perhaps it had been sitting there for some time now and it took him being away for a few days for him to realize that.

His coat found it's way onto a hook, and Greg began to strip out of his suit, depositing most of the pieces into his dirty laundry hamper. That also needed to be done, the laundry had been festering over the weekend and even with what he'd been able to get to last week, now it needed to be done all over again. So was the nature of laundry.

Greg slipped into some new clean green briefs, a white tee shirt, and grey gym shorts. Exactly what you want to wear when doing manual labor likely to make you perspire, or something good to sleep in if he felt so inclined to do so tonight.

Turning to fully examine what needed to be done his eyes latched onto his coat, and the way it was there being pristine and nice, while also looking thoroughly out of place, it made him feel worse. Something wasn't right about it, like finding a freshly planted rose in a field of dead lilies. It didn't belong there, it deserved to be somewhere better, somewhere nice and clean, where it wouldn't be ruined just by being present as the air worked into the dense fibers of it.

Is that how Mycroft viewed him? Like a patch of rough that shouldn't be inside of his nice pleasant home.

"It's just nerves. That's all. The hearing is coming up soon, just gotta make it to then and I'll be fine. This'll all be over soon." Yeah cleaning up was definitely a good idea. Sitting around wouldn't help with his anxiety and knowing himself, Greg understood that a full nights rest wasn't in the cards for him. If he was going to be stuck awake for hours they might as well be some productive hours of get things into a more habitable state.

He started with the counter tops. Sparse as they were they still needed to be done in case he planned on using then to make food of any kind. He pushed harder into them than he needed to, they may have been dirty but the filth was hard and packed on against them. Next came the cabinets and he had yet to even get halfway through them when he began to contemplate the order of things he was going to do next.

The fridge would be easy since it was mostly empty, and the microwave could be done after that. Getting the bathroom and floors would mean using a different cleaner so he would have to do those sequentially. The couch could only get so clean unless he wanted to shampoo or steam it, and he didn't have the necessary tools to do either of those. His bookshelf and the overhead fan could use a good dusting as well, which reminded him that he would need to sweep the floor before he went at it with a cleaner.

There was plenty to keep him occupied for the restless night ahead of him.

....

"Boss, you look rough." Ah Sally, always the kind and subtle one when it came to voicing her concerns.

"Feel kinda rough too. Didn't sleep all that well last night." Sometime after he'd finished scrubbing the floor moldings he crawled onto his bed and passed out. He really had no clue how much sleep he had gotten last night, his phone had been plugged up in the kitchen so he wasn't inclined to check it every few seconds, but any sleep at all was more then he was expecting.

"Something, keeping you up at night? Neighbors get a noisy dog, or were they getting a little loud with their fun last night?"

"Something like that." Greg wanted to tell her. She was there for him after the trial the first time he lost it all to Mary. She had his back in this, so maybe he could divulge in this one little bit and tell her about Mycroft's plan. Well he would exclude that it included Mycroft, since then he would need to go into who Mycroft was and his relationship to Sherlock, but even the barest mention of a Holmes could sour her mood and the day had only just begun for them ,so he didn't want to open that can of worms. "I'm going to court on Thursday."

"Oi, a DI in court. The press is gunna have a fun time with this. Did ya finally snap and and attack Sherlock? If you did I'm sure you could get off easy with temporary insanity, lord knows everyone in the department has been pissed at him at one point or another." She was trying to lighten the atmosphere of the room and ease the tension that was plainly visible behind his eyes. Sally cared and that meant a lot to him, it was more than his ex wife had ever done.

"I've, I've got a divorce hearing. 'Nother one to settle somethings." Those words hurt to even say, they made it all feel more real as they tore open the old wounds that were never allowed to heal from the first go around. God, if it hurt this much to just mention the trial how on Earth was he supposed to sit through it without falling apart.

"What?" Oh, she was mad, this was going to be interesting. "I thought all this shit was over and done with. What sort of stunt is that bitch trying to pull now, she got off too easy before and now she wants to take it back to court." her shouts filled his office, and were likely heard a good ways out into the corridor.

"Actually I'm the one who wanted this to happen."

"Greg, why?" Fuck she used his name, that only happened when things got serious. "I know how tough it was last time. Why would you want to do it again?"

"A mate told me he could help me out. Said they could stop the alimony checks, even get back all the money I've already had to pay her."

"Are you sure about this? If things end up in her favor you could wind up sending her more money than you already are. This might be risking too much Greg."

"My mate said they would help, promised to even get a lawyer to help me out this time, not gunna be stuck with the same guy from last time."

"Who exactly is this mate of yours, who apparently has enough money and free time to get you a lawyer, and how do you know that they're even going to be any good?"

"I trust him."

"But, who is he?" She was talking with her hands, making larger gestures as her annoyance grew each time Greg avoided the question of who this mysterious person was.

"You know him, but not very well."

"Was it that bloke who took you out of the rain the other week?"

Fuck! Greg knew that Sally was a good cop, but he would have hoped it would have taken her more than on nanosecond to narrow it down to Mycroft.

"Yeah, that's the one. Though he's too posh to ever be called a bloke, probably has more money than the Queen."

"Fine, that chap," she was still annoyed and asked again, "Now who is he. This time I'll need more than just 'he's not in the mob'. I want an answer."

"Being in the mob might piss you off less than the truth, Sally."

"Answer the question, or I'll be here all day and you'll never get any work done."

She may have believed she could distract him from his work until she got an answer out of him, but she really couldn't. If he was able to file expense reports with Sherlock whining over his shoulder then he could tolerate Sally for hours. However, she did deserve the truth, even if it might make her mental. Plus he was just plain tired and it was inevitable that she would find out.

"He's Sherlock's older brother."

"Shit, there's two of 'em!" She was preemptively rubbing her temples, like just the idea of a second Holmes in the world was enough to bring on an aneurism at a young age.

"Well, there were three, but I really don't feel like telling that story right now."

"How did their parents live like that?"

"Simple they weren't around all that much. You think someone as obnoxious as Sherlock was raised by competent, caring parents? He only managed to live this long because of his older brother. They did fuck all to raise 'em." Greg was laning his full weight into his desk, the conversation draining what little energy he managed to scrounge up until then.

"So you admit he's obnoxious then."

"Sally, anyone who has said two words to Sherlock has had the esteemed pleasure of hearing him monologue about all their shortcomings for two minutes straight. Everyone finds him obnoxious, even John and he manages to live with the bastard. Of course I'm annoyed by him, its just that I don't want to hang his hide from the Raptors for it. Happy now?" There, maybe now the conversation could end, she got the answer to a question she'd been asking for years.

"What's his name? This reclusive older brother of his?"

Or maybe not. Greg held onto some minute hope that talking about Sherlock would get them off the topic of Mycroft, but he wasn't destined to be so lucky, and he resigned to answering her truthfully. "Mycroft."

"That's stupid."

"Better than Sherlock."

Sally wanted to make a rebuttal about their equal levels of stupidity, but she was interrupted by Greg's office door being thrown open by some random officer they both recognized, but neither of them knew the name of.

"Sorry to interrupt, but we've got a body and Sherlock Holmes is on the scene right now trying to give orders to the cops already there investigating."

"Where is the scene?" They asked at the same time.

"Off the Thames at the south end, I would have sent someone else over, but I was told to bring all Sherlock Holmes related incidents to you."

"I'll get the address, boss. You go ahead and get a car."

With a nod Greg was out the door and down to the parking deck. They were on a time crunch with this body. It wasn't bad enough that the perpetual downpour was easily going to compromise evidence, but the lower banks on the south end were prone to flooding at this time of year. Normally the few inches of water that managed to accumulate on land was nothing more than a minor inconvenience, but with a corpse that's been exposed to the elements sitting out for nobody knows how long, anything could compromise the scene beyond usefulness.

....

Sally couldn't let things rest, even as they got out of the parking deck she said, "When we get back to the office I'm not letting you off the hook until I know everything going on with this Mycroft."

"He's a mate of mine, he's Sherlock's brother, and he's a genius. There, that's the long and short of it."

There was a tension created by his answer that could have easily been filled by either one of them continuing the conversation but they had this unspoken rule to not discuss something so personal at times like these. They had bigger issues than his personal life right now.

As they merged into the main roads Sally was focusing more on driving as she flew down the streets, than in anything else. The speed at which they were driving was too fast given the reduced viability in the rain. Even with their siren blaring to alert other cars to make way for them Greg was still holding onto the bar above the door out of habit. Sally drive like a maniac at all times of the day, and being in a cop car rushing to a crime scene only provided an excuse for her to let loose. She would deny that she enjoyed it, but anyone with common sense and deductive reasoning would tell it was a thrill she was chasing.

All that momentum came to an unexpected halt that left Greg shaken when he fall back against his seat after being thrust forward. There was never a time when Sally was driving that he didn't regret it after she came to a stop. Preferably he would never let her drive, but when time wasn't something they had to freely waste he knew she could get them there faster than he ever could, if only he could also retain his footing after getting out of the vehicle.

....

Stopping from the car and having water smack against his face in a dense sheet was a wakeup call to Greg. This was all dreadfully familiar to what felt like an eternity ago, back when he and Mycroft were still dancing around each other like fools.

Well, he was still a fool. Forgetting his coat in his office on a rainy day was something new for him. An umbrella was at least excusable given it's small size and their tendency to roll off of whatever surface they are placed on, and landing in the crevices of the world, but an overcoat was simply pathetic. They were large and unless you were a complete slob (he would argue that he was only partially a slob) you would take the care to hang it up, making it even harder for him to forget. Yet, he was in a rush to get to the scene and he missed it completely. Not even realizing until it was too late and he was starting to get water logged.

"Shit." Not even a full minute at the scene and his patience was spent.

This was the cycle his life had chosen for him, but today he didn't expect to have Mycroft spontaneously pull up in his unmarked car and take him out to lunch again. No, he was here with the less desirable of the Holmes brothers.

Surprisingly Sherlock actually started to approach him for once, certainly a different turn of events but no less annoying. At first he worried that Sally might try to start a fight again but she was already out of the way over by the forensics team. Still, with the tall bugger wrapped up in his own long goat and scarf did little else to help his mood, and it appeared that john was still following him around with an umbrella, but he made no attempt to protect Sherlock instead choosing to reserve that for himself. Now Sherlock could just insult him for forgetting his coat and allowing himself to get soaked.

"I'm so happy that the police managed to arrive when they felt like it. Your arrival was so untimely that I had to get my hands dirty just so you could collect your redundant "evidence" to catch the killer." Sherlock also sounded like he was fed up with the weather, but this was a battle of wills that Greg wasn't going to lose.

John spoke first before Greg could launch back with his own annoyed retort. "Oi, last I checked you weren't the one who had to dig up a moat to protect the body, you lying sod." 

"Well we only had the one shovel John and you are obviously stronger than me so you were able to dig it faster than I could have."

"Wait, did you say moat?"

"Yes, moat. Often used in castles as an waterway to deter invaders, however in this context perhaps an irrigation system would he a more apt description. John took the liberty of digging one up to divert the excess water away from the body."

Looking at the ground Greg could see a clear indent in the uneven, muddy ground that was made in a wide circle around the body and was then directed off to flow into a small stream that managed to form as a result of the abundant rainfall in the area.

His first instinct was to shout at the both of them for tampering with a crime scene, and possibly destroying evidence, but John had dug up the earth in such a way that the roped off zone managed to fit inside of it and still have room to spare. So far they had done nothing to impede his investigation, but there were still ample opportunities for him to reprimand then, not like they would listen even if he did.

"Thanks. Now wanna give me a brief explanation of what happened here?"

John answered this time instead of Sherlock. "It appears to be an accident." At Greg's face of disbelief he continued. "The body showed clear clear signs of severe bronchitis. The body had no puncture wounds and I couldn't examine too thoroughly but rigor mortis hasn't even been able to fully set in. Its likely the man left his home and then fell but he was too sick to even turn his head out of the mud, and he suffocated as a result." Hearing it now John sounded more down troughton than he usually did, which made sense. Arriving too late to save someone was never easy, and Greg had dealt with similar feelings before. 

"Sorry mate, it sounds rough. Sherlock, anything to add?" John appeared to have taken the lead which was unusual, but there was still a presidence for it happening before. Asking Sherlock was really just a formality as the man would voice his thoughts even if they were unwanted and unnecessary.

"I reached a similar conclusion. A rather pathetic death if I'm being honest, but John wants me to be a better person and describing death as pathetic isn't something I supposed to do." He let out a little huff like the cat he didn't get the cream this time.

Greg didn't even say bye to them after that. Just left them to quarrel on in the little dispute he knew was coming. Trusting Sherlock and John like this went against everything he learned about when it came to being a good cop. Not just involving civilians and outsiders in investigations, but listening to their reasoning gave him an end goal to look for. At first they may seem helpful, but if you only look for things that can align with a single outcome then you are prone to ignore and disregard anything contrary to on. But then what does that matter when he continued to ask Sherlock his opinion anyway at every crime scene they visited.

Stepping over the trench gave Greg the chance to examine it more thoroughly. For what it was it appeared to he well made, John's military training must have had a certain amount of influence in how well he was able to dig it up. Just maintaining its consistent shape across its whole length was a feat all it's own. By now there was nothing but thick black mud sloshing through the divot, its pace now languid given its thicker consistency from the dirt and loose pieces of gravel caught in it's way.

That first second under the tent had it's own blissful tranquility to it. Just the sounds of rain pattering off of the top while he was able to brush the water off of his face and it would actually stay dry this time.

His joy could have easily been interpreted as disrespect to the dead. The fool (That's what Greg was going to refer to him as because who thinks it's a good idea to leave the house with bronchitis) had died in an almost comedic accident. Falling into the mud is the sort if thing you see in old slapstick from cartoons, yet this time it had deadly repercussions.

Perhaps that explained how easily he was taking this. Deaths, especially recent deaths, hit him hard but never enough to affect his work. This wasn't just him being desensitized to the concept of death. No he still felt something instead of the numbness he was used to and it was too acute to be pain or sorrow. At least he knew he wasn't a psychopath even if he found the circumstances idiotic. He could almost laugh if that didn't qualify as the most heinous things he could possibly do in the situation. 

Maybe it was just his lack of sleep and tired demeanor that blanketed things in an ambivalent wave. Yeah sure his morning had been shit, but at least he didn't fucking dye while going out to grab some cough syrup. So many ways to feel and none of them felt fully justified to him.

Finally clearing his head and looking down at the corpse reaffirmed Greg's trust in John's judgement. This guy was well and fully dead, but his skin had that little bit of extra color too it. It was obvious how the blood was pooling in his arms and legs, but some small fraction of it had yet to seep from the scruff of his neck and the part of his cheek that was visible.

The more he stared the worse he felt for his own emotions. This wasn't a long case (accidents like this never were), but it gave no indication that it would be an easy one.

....

Driving back to the office was done in that same silence they also had when returning from a death scene. Their own little way of respecting the dead even if it really did nothing. Greg should have been less focused on himself but he was fully out of patience with today, and the slightest thing would set him off.

Greg didn't even brush the hair out of his face by this point. He'd tried it repeatedly, but it never worked out for him, it always just fell back I to his face making him look just wonderful for all his subordinates he would have to pass by when he walked to his office.

....

It was pathetic the way he looked at Mycroft's phone number once he was in the safe privacy of his office. Really he was pretty pathetic in everything he did with Mycroft. Being with the man was the only time Greg really felt happy anymore. Drinking with John gave a similar feeling, but nothing reached those same levels of unobstructed joy, and that was the problem. He only found joy when he was with Mycroft which was not only sad but also unhealthy. Placing all his love and affections into one person was just setting himself up for failure, but he couldn't stop himself. It felt too good to he there next to him. It had been so long since he had something like this and if he continued to badger Mycroft at every turn he might end up driving him away.

So Greg sat, and overthought things. He really needed to talk to someone that wasn't Sally. She had actually forgotten to ask about Mycroft despite her vehement attempts to claim she wouldn't do that exact thing. This gave him a break, but he doubted it would require more than a day for her to remember, really whenever any footsteps passed by his office door there was always a second when he assumed it might just be Sally coming to get her answers, but until she came by he was going to stress about this. 

"Just one text." He whispered to the empty room. 

Something small and simple. Rather than thinking things through like he really should have given the situation he instead typed in the first thing that came to mind and hit send. Then he promptly smacked his forehead at his own boundless stupidity. The die was cast and all that hullabaloo, now he had to resign himself to waiting for Mycroft's judgement. 

......

Mycroft looked away from his computer the moment his phone went off, because it was Gregory texting him. He took the liberty of giving him a distinct message tone. Currently he and Sherlock were the only ones who had that privilege. He would have given one to Anthea, but she would call or email him rather than sending a text message so it would be useless to do so.

The joy that filled him each time that little sound went off was unsightly. Being giddy and entranced by the prospect would do him no service in protecting his image, so it was an great blessing that he had a private office with the only winder to the rest of the floor permanently covered by his blinds. It gave him that modicum of privacy he needed to expend the emotional energy that fueled him. Such indulgences were unbecoming and therefore something he took the liberty to avoid in the past, but now with Greg swaddling him with previously unkindled feelings, Mycroft was unable to stop himself.

Unlocking his phone Mycroft was greeted by a poignant, "Today can sod off."

Not how he was used to having a conversation start but nothing about Gregory was usual for his life and that's what made him so special. He replied back, "Something wrong, Gregory?" He had only just set his phone back down on his desk when he heard it chime again to the eloquent message he had just received stating, "no sleep, rainy day, forgot my coat, had to deal with your brother through it all." "I hope you managed to get back inside, lest you be texting me from the rain." "Been back for a few minutes but I'm still mad." "Was it really all that troublesome?" Greg sent a picture of himself in a response. He had a grimace etched into his handsome features and though the image man ha e partially been meant to amuse Mycroft it didn't comfort him. Truthfully the image did nothing but worry him. Past the water coming off his face, and the sleepless eyes Mycroft saw deeper down. If Gregory had truly been in back in his office for several minutes then he shouldn't have the extreme color to his cheeks that was clearly visible, or the pallor on his normally olive skin. His eyes were red and crusty as well as his nostrils looking dried out. From the image he could assume that Greg was huffing slightly, but if he was being hopeful maybe that could he written off as Gregory simply taking a deep breath to calm his nerves.

However he wasn't someone to believe in such chances and as it was all the signs pointed towards Gregory catching a sickness. Either the flu or pneumonia by his estimates, but he needed to see Gregory soon if he was going to quell his nerves. However, his schedule wouldn't permit that desire.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Leave comments, positive or negative to tell me what you think and how I can improve.


End file.
